Keeper of the Lost: The Beginning of the End
by Dragongirl of the Stars
Summary: When an unexpected supernova renders our famed Time Lord unconscious, is the person who finds him the key to reuniting him with his, dare I say, beloved Rose Tyler? What has become of the girl from Bad Wolf Bay?
1. Supernova

Disclaimer: I'm sobbing. I think you get the point...

Yes, this is edited. Yes, I have checked and fixed the errors. Yes, this introduction is not nearly as crazy or sugar-hype-induced as it originally was. But, then again, I am more experienced with the fanfiction this time, not blindly posting and hoping I did it correctly.

And finally, yes, I do seem very mellow today, Deal with it.

So, old readers, this is edited for those of you who care. To those of you who are freshly reading this, enjoy the fact you didn't have to see it like it was before, in horribly crude and badly edited form. So...

Read on.

**-Da Dragongirl **

* * *

**Chapter One**

Chest heaving and legs burning, the Doctor pelted across the heating surface of the planet, the soles of his feet beginning to blister from the rapid increase in temperature on the dusty ground. The TARDIS sat, ever waiting for him, about a fifty metres away. He had but thirty seconds left. The alien's skin was beginning to burn with the heat, turning red with the intensity, but he pressed forward, sprinting faster than he would have thought himself capable of.

Twenty seconds until the supernova.

Suddenly remembering the door of the TARDIS was locked, he actually slammed into the door, cursing and struggling to recover whilst fumbling about for his key, then jamming the bit of metal into the lock and twisting it viciously. He threw himself through the door, sweat stinging his eyes and skin boiling.

Fifteen seconds.

Slamming the door closed behind him, he pelted forward to the consol and practically hammered his fists down on buttons and very nearly snapped a lever off its hinges. He had no idea where he was taking himself, but as long as it was away from here it would be more than perfect.

Ten seconds.

Hitting a final button, the TARDIS, extremely aware of the danger they faced, literally tore open a wormhole and began to dematerialise, her central column pumping furiously. But it took a second longer than either had hoped.

With a roar loud enough to hurt the ears of the deafest of the dead, the overheating star burst, exploding into a gaseous ball of liquid heat, trillions of degrees higher than any average sun. Radioactive waves stretched for billions of miles, hitting whatever they came in contact with.

It all occurred at the precise millisecond before the TARDIS disappeared.

The force of the waves of heat and inertia did not actually harm the great ship, but had smashed into it with enough force to turn it completely over, picking an already half-conscious Doctor clean off his feet and practically hurling him through the room as the TARDIS was sent sideways.

The Time Lord fell heavily against the wall, cracking his head on the grating and knocking him, as well as his ship, into the silent curtain of unconsciousness.

* * *

Yes, okay, I've edited the chapter. I'm am content. _Thank Rasillion. _(I still don't know how to spell that. Suggestions?) And I've finished with my eight-page Biography on J.K.Rowling. (Yes, I am in Secondary School. Get over it; we still do that type of thing. And yes, I _am _American. You can get over that too.) 

Moving on. Fifth Chapter up soon, savvy?


	2. Open to the Public

**Chapter Two**

Theresa Schwartz swirled soap and water around on the surface of a plate, deliberating what topic to write her essay about. Her legs were cramped from standing too long and she already had a headache from a long day of working on her latest photography assignment for the newspaper she worked for. She'd been up so late the night before writing outline notes on a long chapter of a book called _Mathematical Influences in Astronomy_ that she'd been half-asleep the entire day. Much to her employer's dislike, she had noticed.

Theresa was but a young woman the age of twenty-two with a heart-shaped face and brown hair that stopped at her neck, which was always wildly arranged in some kind of casual disarray. Her eyes were a dark brown colour but her skin was very pale, often reminding those around her of a barn owl; the bird that had long since been her trademark animal after hearing so many comments from friends and family.

Her mother, Larissa Kinder, had always playfully teased her daughter about being a little bird as a child, having long legs and wide eyes. Theresa's father Daniel, on the other hand, had never actually commented on much of anything, being a very reserved and quiet man who had seemed to grow less and less interesting as time passed on.

Theresa sighed and shifted her weight to her left leg and off of her right, relieving the pressure on her right foot. _Just another reason she divorced him_, she mused humourlessly. It had been just a few years ago, she recalled, when her mother had filed for divorce.

The couple hadn't been getting along very well that year, as Daniel had begun to talk less and less, almost as if entering a state of mild depression. Larissa hadn't been able to stand it. So, she'd gotten custody and regained her maiden name, Kinder. Daniel Schwartz moved to northern California and Larissa Kinder had flown to Florida, to her hometown. Theresa had not objected to the incident, as she herself had never had the chance, nor circumstances, to grow close to her father. Her mother had been the primary parent in her life with Theresa sculpting everything about herself in comparison to Larissa.

As a result, Theresa's personality, as many often argued, would probably never be compared to something as calm as a barn owl, being an extremely witty, curious, quick-thinking girl with a flare for the unexpected. Theresa was widely known, at least among her many peers at the University, to be the cat that was constantly killed by proverbial curiosity, often poking her pale nose in matters that others, mainly her University's staff members, had thought were best kept from young adults.

Twice she'd been caught rifling through the restricted section of the library, the side crammed with information most of the teachers had decided to keep away from students over the years due to controversial issues and such; the other side being filled with all the designated "safe" materials, and Theresa had been reading whatever she thought was interesting… which ranged from political issues on the Vietnam War to the editorials in newspapers about the banned books on the Holocaust. Three times after that she had come very near to being found out when she had eavesdropped on the many disgustingly intimate conversations between her old English professor and the District Manager of her University.

Those were the days, she thought with a slight grin. She hadn't had time to go snooping around since she'd acquired her new flat a few blocks from the College: any free time she had to do so had been taken up with her job at the _Daily Triumphant_, a small, local newspaper that was located in an old, run down building about a mile away. It might not have made much in terms of profit, but at least the other employees were nice to her. The fact that it was in biking distance also saved her money on transportation.

Theresa was jolted from her musings when a huge crash echoed across the sparsely furnished living room of the one-bedroom apartment, loud enough to disturb the neighbours across the street. Jumping up in surprise and nearly dropping the glass she'd been cleaning, Theresa froze when she realized the origin of the sound had come from her only bedroom. Fearing the worst, she snatched up the nearest object capable of being used for defense – that of which happened to be her old metal spatula – she subconsciously thought up reasons for the noise… like a broken and/or shattered window she couldn't afford to pay for, or a rookie burglar that she would have to catch _and_ pay the fee for the window, as well as whatever he might have gotten his hands on, or a large number of other irrational things.

Quickly setting aside the glass and throwing her towel aside, Theresa hurried out of her mini-kitchen and jogged through the living room, stopping in the short hall and throwing open the door that led to her bedroom.

Luckily, when she looked around, she saw no broken glass or shattered window, nor was there a thief anywhere in her midst. Everything looked perfectly normal, except for one little teeny-tiny detail.

A tall, blue rectangular box resembling a phone booth, with the words "Police Call Box" painted on its top, sat in the corner of the room next to her closet.

Blinking in confusion and astonishment, Theresa cautiously stepped forward, eying the new accommodation to her flat with a wary expression. Many would say that such a thing would eventually be bound to happen to a girl like Theresa, who always seemed to either be up to something sneaky or somehow involved with the unusual. However, Theresa rather thought this was a little far out of even _her_ realm of "unusual."

Swallowing down her rising hysteria, Theresa groped blindly through her jeans' pocket, eyes never leaving the object, until her fingers finally located the thin, rectangular cellular phone shoved in her pocket. She looked down a moment to locate the buttons, but the moment she looked back up again, a light in the windows of the call box flickered, giving off an almost eerie green glow; a low mechanical groan shuddered from its general vicinity and more lights flickered. Something passed in front of the light for a moment, disturbing the glow as it created a shadow; then Theresa heard a thud.

And that was when the young woman dashed into her hall, slammed the bedroom door, and fled to the bathroom, locking that door behind her as well and sinking into the dark and empty bathtub; fingers gripping the spatula like a lifeline, the soft glow from her phone was the only light bright enough to illuminate Theresa's facial features in the dark shadows of the bathroom.

Panic flooding through her faster than was rationally necessary, her shaking fingers pounded out the three-digit number that lectures stressed a child should remember. It was, of course, 911.

The line rang for an excruciatingly long two seconds, until a masculine voice from the other side picked up and greeted her with the usual, "This is 911, what's your emergency?" Theresa, being shocked and confused and panicking, found herself stammering out an almost garbled recollection of her discovery. It only afterwards that she realized how pathetically Sci-Fi Channel it sounded. However, the desperate reality of the situation denied her any amount of doubt that could be had over whether or not her story was to be believed. She couldn't see it from a different angle at all, blinded by her own panic.

As she concluded her discovery, the man on the other side of the line seemed to consider something for a minute before speaking in an unenthusiastic monotone as he told her story back to her, something she assumed was the custom when checking for accuracy on a report, but his voice left no welcome for corrections.

"So you heard a noise," he began slowly, "and you thought it had come from your bedroom-"

"I _knew_ it came from my bedroom," Theresa cut in, correcting his doubtful word choice. She felt no reason to be polite in such circumstances.

"You _knew_ it had come from your bedroom," he continued again, using the same slow, monotone voice, "and when you investigated, a box was there."

"It's a British Police Call Box," she corrected the man yet again. The little details seemed too important for Theresa to be polite enough for him to glide over them; their points were to be emphasized!

"And it wasn't there before." The man – Dave, he was called – had said it as a statement, but his tone suggested he wanted clarification. Theresa's brows furrowed. _Why are people in high power so closed minded?_ "No, it wasn't. I don't know how it got there – and it's too big to fit through my doorway!" Theresa added pointedly, hoping to emphasize her exasperation. "There's absolutely no way it could have gotten there – it must weigh a ton!" There was silence for a moment. Dave sighed heavily. 

"I've arranged for an officer to be in route; in the meantime I'm going to hand you over to Linda. She's going to ask you a few questions, okay?" The man now spoke a bit faster, but with a tone that suggested that whoever was on the receiving end was a young child, utilizing a baby-ish, you-need-to-be-handled-with-care voice. Theresa's frown deepened as she noted this. If the situation had been any different, she'd have been seriously miffed… or, at least, _more_ miffed.

"Yes, sir," Theresa responded with a smothered scoff, trying desperately to control her flaring temper at how her claim was being handled, which was now coupled with her diminishing level of social status. If there was one thing you didn't want to do, it was insult Theresa Schwartz's social status.

There was a brief crackling of something brushing against the mouthpiece of the phone, and then a cold, unfriendly feminine voice was heard on the line. _This must be Linda_, Theresa thought with distaste.

"Hello," she said. Linda's voice was like polished metal: smooth and pristine but cold and unkind.

"Hello," Theresa replied, distaste and weariness plain; she hadn't bothered to conceal it for quite a few reasons.

"I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions, Miss Schwartz, is that all right?" It was that same patronising baby-voice. Theresa ground her teeth; the second worse thing you could do to her was to not take her seriously. Her nerves were grinding in the wrong direction already, and this conversation with Linda had hardly lasted fifteen seconds.

"Of course," she replied again, doing her best to sound emotionless, the only other alternative to sneering; it was one extreme or the other. "Go right ahead."

"Now, this is just standard procedure, all right? It's nothing personal."

"Go right ahead," Theresa repeated in a monotone.

"So. Have you been drinking today? Do you have any history of drug or alcohol abuse?"

"No, ma'am." The politeness was flat and slightly sarcastic, but if Linda had noticed it she didn't care. Theresa doubted she'd caught it.

"Do you take any medication for pain or stress?"

"No ma'am."

"Good, good for you." There was doubt there. Theresa's keen ears picked it up like an aeroplane on radar; just another nerve rubbed the wrong way. Linda continued on, "Have you ever suffered a head trauma or memory loss?"

This time the college girl had more than two words to say. "No – well, yes, actually. I took a fall and fractured my skull when I was thirteen – it punctured my eardrum, but that was it. No memory loss."

There was a pause, as if Linda was writing something down.

"Okay, okay. How old are you now?

"Twenty-two."

"Do you have a roommate?"

Theresa's annoyance began to heighten and she sighed loudly before replying, "No."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Theresa?" Linda continued, sounding as if she were reading from a scripted procedure manual.

"Not really." Theresa was beginning to get annoyed; they had strayed completely from the situation at hand.

"Have you experienced depression at all within the past year – any thoughts of suicide or death?"

Theresa knew this was beginning to get ridiculous. Here she was, locked in her own bathroom, on the phone with some numb-skull who couldn't care less, while a giant Police Call Box sat undisturbed in her bedroom a few yards away. Where the heck did it come from anyway? There were no such call boxes in America that Theresa knew of.

"Not to be rude," Theresa spoke up, "but I really don't see how this is relevant to finding out why there is a big blue box in my bedroom!"

"Now, Miss Schwartz, as I said, all the questions are simply required by procedure. You don't need to be defensive. This is a very…"

"I'm not being defensive!" Theresa protested, although she had just contradicted herself. "I _just_ want to know if anyone is going to do anything about the box!"

"Miss Schwartz, I am going to ask only once that you-"

"And I am going to ask _you_ only once that you give me a straight answer!"

There was a brief pause. It finally clicked in Theresa's mind, and she understood what was going on.

"You… you don't believe me, do you? You think I'm crazy." She laughed shortly, a laugh without humour. "Just because it isn't 'normal' or 'believable' it isn't true."

Linda still hadn't responded; it was so silent Theresa was almost sure that she wasn't there. Because of the slight chance she was, Theresa continued her rant, almost to herself.

"That's what all these questions are about, aren't they? You're running background checks on me to see if I'm crazy!" Theresa rose to her feet, stepping out of the tub and stalking out of the dark bathroom. She continued to rant as she stomped down the hall, her anger reaching levels too high to be ignored. "Well guess what, lady, I'm _not_ crazy! Why can't you people accept that not everything in this world is explainable? As soon as one little thing seems strange, it gets thrown out the window!"

She stopped in front of the closed bedroom door. There was an almost stunned silence on the other side of the line.

"Miss Schwartz," Linda began, her voice betraying the possibility that quite a bit of her self esteem and patience had been diminished in the past fourteen seconds; her tone now almost shaky, submissive. "Have… have you looked _inside_ this box?"

There was another silence. It hadn't occurred to Theresa that the inside of the box was as important as how it had gotten in her bedroom. She felt stupid for a moment, but then dismissed the feeling and told herself that she had a good reason to have not been thinking clearly – after all, the box's simple appearance had been enough to freak her out in the first place.

But that also sent an alarm off in Theresa's mind. Obviously this box had something strange about it – something that large had gotten into her room somehow – it looked too heavy to have been carried, much less moved through a doorway half it's size. The room itself possessed absolutely no evidence at how it had come to be there. Nothing was disturbed, not a single knickknack out of place. So what if the inside wasn't… normal? Obviously suspicions would be raised about her… publicity was not something she wanted either. She'd be considered even more psycho for coming across something like that Call Box.

So she lied.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "There was nothing."

And then, feeling an unexplained panic, she pressed the red phone button on her phone's keypad.

Theresa snapped her phone closed, clutching it in her left hand as she stared at the plain white door to her bedroom. The spatula's metal handle was in her right hand, still held like it was the only item of her defense. Technically, it was. Heaving a sigh, she reached for the handle. It was time to find out the meaning of this blue box.

Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door and stepped through to her bedroom. She approached the box; the glow from the inside hadn't altered or diminished, but was now accompanied by an eerie thrum.

She stepped gingerly up to its door, sizing it up. Heat radiated off of the object, as if it had just been put through an extremely large oven for ten minutes and pulled out again. Slowly, trying to brace herself for whatever lay behind the blue barrier, she reached for the handle, tugging on it.

It swung open slowly, as if deliberately trying to increase the suspense of the situation. Theresa hysterically thought of that suspenseful music one hears during a horror flick.

The metal spatula that had been gripped firmly in Theresa's hand slipped to the floor with a loud clatter.

What the door revealed when it moved aside made Theresa step back, stifling a cry of shock as she staggered away. She couldn't believe her eyes.

This was, in all senses literally and metaphorically possible, clearly NOT a Call Box.

* * *

Soooooo, stay tuned, people. I've finally gotten this up. took me a while, so I apologise. But hey, reviews are love. (And also a MOTIVATION! Won't write more without reviews!)

So go on. Click the little button!


	3. Subject to Injury

**Chapter Three**

Pain. That was all he felt.

Mentally shaking himself awake and trying to clear away the fog that had gathered in his brain, the Doctor winced. His head felt like it had been bashed in with a metal bat, like the ones used in the human sport, baseball.

_Multiple times_, he added to himself. Wincing again, his eyes still shut; the Doctor struggled to remember what had happened.

_The__supernova… ah, yes. It must have hit us just before we dematerialised, _he recalled,and then the lurch that had sent him flying into the wall flitted across his memory as well. Certainly not something he would like to experience again, if at least for another regeneration. Flying across the room was for winged creatures, space travel was for Time Lords and their ships. He certainly wasn't the former.

A sudden wave of pain rippled through his head. The Doctor raised a hand reflexively and held it to his skull; it came away feeling wet and warm, some substance coating the back of his head, presumably blood. He hoped to Rasillion it wasn't, deciding he didn't want to know and dismissing the thought.

There was a shuffle of feet and something cold was pressed to his forehead as what felt like fingers gently lifted his head up, cupping the back of his neck. Knowing that he had had no passengers that could have possessed such appendages, his eyes fluttered groggily open to locate the source. He found his answers as soon as his vision focused again.

Two pairs of brown eyes met, one shocked and the other confused. Cradling his injured skull in one hand and holding a damp towel in the other, a young human girl with short hair and owlish features stared down at him.

_"What?"_

0000000

Theresa now sat in a white chair next to the tall, green centre column, knees in her chest, her eyes wide but unseeing as she attempted to take in everything around her. The girl might have possessed a large imagination, but she would have hardly even been able to dream of something as grand and alien as the (obviously) trans-dimensional… "Thing"… she was in.

When she had cautiously entered the glowing room she had encountered the unconscious body of a supposedly human man, lying on the grating underfoot, crimson staining the floor underneath his head. It was difficult at first to recognise the wound, due to the wild thatch of brown hair upon his head, but when Theresa lifted him upward and moved it aside, a gash about an inch long could be seen, crusted with old blood. Fresh instinct rising inside her, Theresa had set aside her fear and confusion and began to apply as much medical attention to the man as she could… however little that might have been. At least she had cleaned most of the blood; now she just had to wait for him to come 'round.

Then she had been forced to think about it, as her mind was unable to distract itself with anything else.

She had been overwhelmed with awe and amazement at first.

The grandness of the "Thing" had taken Theresa's breath away – it still did; as it seemed to possess a beauty she would have never even attempted to imagine. A low, peaceful thrumming vibrated through her chest and it was somehow soothing. The green glow of the large column in the centre of the room was eerie but somehow omitted a peaceful calm.

But now, a few minutes after, an eerie, spine-prickling feeling ran down her neck and back and made shivers flood through her.

_Is this all a mistake?_ She questioned. Was the man really a human – surely a regular person wouldn't have possessed such an object, much less be able to_use_ it. And if he _was_ an alien – even though the idea seemed absurd given his obviously human appearance – was she wrong to have helped him? Was he friendly? After all, she'd seen so many hostile-alien movies it was hard to say. Was it simply coincidence that he had "landed" in her apartment, or were they out to get her? (Another absurd thought driven of a wild imagination; and Theresa dismissed the audacity at once whilst taking into consideration she had no idea who "they" were.) And what was this odd, coral-looking thing? Was it some sort of spaceship? How the heck had it gotten into her bedroom without going through the roof or the window or the wall – or did it travel some other way?

As even more haunting questions buzzed relentlessly through Theresa's poor human mind, a soft moan came from the corner where the alien-man lay, and the young woman's gaze snapped over to him. He was rousing, lifting a hand to the back of his head, eyes still closed but wincing all the same.

_I'll have to find out, won't I?_ She thought, reaching for the damp towel on the side-table and rising to her feet. After all, if she wanted answers it was best to get on whatever good side this being possessed first, and then she should be safe to interrogate. (_Surely_, she thought, _someone with the ability to work this thing has to at least have a __**smidgen**__ of understanding for my situation_.) But that was also assuming the being would speak any English at all._Which is unlikely_, she added to herself.

She hurried over as the man's hand came away smeared crimson after reaching behind his head; maybe she hadn't treated the wound as thoroughly as she'd thought.

She laid the cloth across his forehead, where a small amount of perspiration had accumulated, and lifted his head slight off the chair, making to clean the wound again. However, at her touch, the man's eyes flickered open and both brown gazes locked, one fearful and the other confused. Her mind froze, as if put on pause, and all her thought processes halted for a few moments.

"_What?"_ He exclaimed.

…

The Doctor's mind was frantically at work as he tried to figure out how a human had gotten into his almost impenetrable ship. The coordinates he'd entered – it might've been wherever he was that had to do with this girl, but how had she gotten _in_? But then an explanation occurred to him as he considered the nasty blow they'd taken from the supernova: the TARDIS was obviously unconscious. But still – unconscious or not, the door should have been securely locked.

His conclusions having been made in a matter of milliseconds, the Doctor unfurrowed his eyebrows and blinked before opening his mouth to talk.

"Hello," he quipped, doing his best to sound friendly.

At this, the young woman's eyes widened and she leaned back a bit, drawing her hand away from his face; she bore the wet towel that had been against his forehead. She looked a little fearful, but mostly bewildered. The doctor knew that she had good reason to be.

_'S not every day you walk into a trans-dimensional Call Box. Unless you're me, of course, but of course she's not so I s'pose she has a reason to be a little afraid._

"Er… hello." Her accent was American, he quickly noted, like old Capitan Jack Harkness; she tried to regain her composure, but it was obviously difficult. "Are-are you alright? I-I think you hit your head… I came in and you were unconscious…" she trailed off. He raised his eyebrows; how had she known?

"Actually, I feel quite alright. Just a bit of a headache, but that's to be expected, what with the fall I took." As if to prove his point, he pushed himself to his feet, rising to stand his full height of six-foot-two and trying to ignite one of his famous grins. He felt light headed and woozy, but he dismissed the feeling as a simple head-rush from lying on the ground for so long. But something warm trickled down the back of his neck, and a slight wave of nausea rose in his stomach.

"But, um, you're bleeding pretty badly." The young human seemed to regain a little confidence as the Doctor felt the place his head hurt the most, beginning to frown. He looked at his hand, which was now smeared with said crimson substance. He grimaced. That could be a bit of a problem… also explained the light-headedness. The human continued a little rapidly, "I found a gash on your head and I did my best to clean it… but I guess I didn't do very well."

The Doctor nodded in understanding, taking the towel she had just offered to him and trying to clean what he could out of his hair. It seemed that the only other doctor he'd ever met and/or travelled with was Martha; his stomach flopped in protest of her memory. "It's really quite alright." He grinned again, ignoring the pain in his head and uneasiness of his past companion's memory – he'd had much worse that a simple gash. "I'm the Doctor, by the way; seems you've stumbled upon my ship." His grin widened and he gestured around the control room with his free arm. "This is the TARDIS – stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space."

"This," she gestured to the floor, a doubtfully inquisitive eyebrow raised, "is a spaceship?"

"More or less," he replied, winking at the bewildered girl and splitting another bazillion-watt grin. He continued on rapidly, his words spoken so fast and without break or pause that they were almost hard to follow. "It's really more of a vessel, I think, given it's size, but you humans consider anything that travels through zero gravity a spaceship so I s'pose you're right in that regard. I mean, I always call it my ship, if that's what you're saying. It may not be a spaceship in _human_ standards – considering the fact that it's trans-dimensional – but it's a ship all the same. Oh – where are my manners?" He extended his free hand, grinning all the while and fully aware that he had gone through the entire speech in three simple breaths. "What's your name?"

The woman seemed confused for a moment, her brows drawn together in concentration. The Doctor knew from experience that he seemed to have that effect on people; usually talking so fast it took them a few moments to catch up. Only one time, unlike his other passengers, Donna, the runaway bride, had slapped him instead of just standing there looking confused.

"Theresa Schwartz," she finally provided, reaching out and shaking his extended hand. "It's… it's a pleasure to meet you."

"So, Miss Schwartz," the Doctor went on, gesturing ahead, towards where he hoped the med bay was now located, "how is it that you came to be in my ship?"


	4. License to Enter

**Chapter Four**

Theresa, feeling her wit resurface again as the new question was proposed, provided a quick reply as she trailed uncertainly after the tall, messy-haired, supposedly British man (or alien, she still wasn't quite sure, but his accent was obviously U.K.).

"I came through the door, if that's any help," she quipped.

Having been striding confidently to a hallway, the man who called himself the Doctor suddenly slowed to a stop and turned around again. He looked confused, but mostly incredulous; Theresa kept her expression serious as she waited for a response.

"Well, yes, I should think that's obvious… I meant, how did you get through the door_ specifically_?"

"I don't understand. I came through those doors over there." She turned slightly and pointed to the white double doors that led outside. "If it's so obvious, then why do you ask?"

The man blinked, looking as if he was at a loss for speech. Theresa could feel herself gaining a bit of an upper hand, something she strived to obtain every time she encountered someone that was about to give her a reprimand or ask her for information. Today the latter was concerned, and so, by habit, she had let her wit do the talking. Apparently her response wasn't anything like what he'd been expecting.

But still, Theresa carried on her charade of ignorant seriousness.

When the Doctor did not answer, she inquired,"Am I being too nondescript? What I meant was that, when I was outside the door, I turned the handle and, you know, pushed it open. Then I walked inside, saw you on the ground, and here I am." Theresa lifted and dropped her arms to her sides, an exaggerated shrug. "It's quite simple, really."

The Doctor's face was relatively blank for a moment, but suddenly morphed into an expression of anger. Theresa figured that he felt insulted, finally having caught on to her charade. His eyes seemed to darken to a dangerous tint for a matter of seconds, but it faded away as he spoke.

"I am _aware_ that you came through the door," he snapped, "but I am _simply_ inquiring how it is that you managed to open a _locked door_ without a key!"

"Well it wasn't locked when I opened it!" Theresa snapped back, façade abandoned as she jumped to her own defence. "All I know is that the door was unlocked when I came in. I didn't use a key, I don't have a key – and I didn't _break _the lock if that's what you mean – and pestering me about the details of how I walked through a doorway doesn't really seem relevant to the situation at hand!"

She paused only a moment in her newfound rant, and now both man and woman were staring each other down with anger in their eyes. Theresa formulated an end to her defensive speech, continuing on. "_All_ I want to know is how and why _your_ 'spaceship' ended up in _my_ apartment!"

* * *

**D,POV**

The Doctor was overwhelmed with a vortex of his own emotion: confusion, anger, annoyance, surprise, although the first three had been dominated by the latter. He hadn't expected a human to react in such a way. Normally, they'd either be scared to bits or blank as a result of shock… not angry, and certainly not witty. He'd never encountered a witty first-timer before; this was new.

The young woman continued, looking defensive now, instead of smart-tongued. "_All_ I want to know is how and why _your_ 'spaceship' ended up in _my_ apartment!"

The girl called Theresa stood, bursting with annoyance and impatience as she stared him directly in the eye. Eventually the Doctor worked up the words to reply. He lessened the hardness of his tone and heaved a sigh, breaking eye contact for the first time in nearly two minutes before running a hand through his hair.

"Look," he began, pushing away his annoyance and trying to sound reasonably calm. "It seems we've gotten off on the wrong foot, here. We're treading on each other's toes already – and that's never a good sign. I suggest we start over." The Doctor took a few steps to be standing in front of Theresa, and then held out his clean hand again, igniting yet another trillion-watt grin. Fixing the alien with an almost distrustful look, she grasped his extended hand and gave it a quick shake.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is my ship, the TARDIS."

"Theresa Schwartz, and you're in _my_ apartment." she replied pointedly, dropping his hand and folding her arms over her chest.

"That's more like it," the Doctor muttered, his jaw tightening slightly at the girl's resistance. He continued on, louder, "Well, I would like to know a bit more about this situation and I'm sure you're full of questions yourself, so if you would accompany me to the infirmary…" he took Theresa by the shoulder and gently prodded her forward, to a hallway; as soon as they had reached it he half-dragged her the rest of the way down the corridor, talking all the while. "… We can have a bit of chat whilst I tend to my head –being one of a superior race I'm not much concerned about infection, but no one enjoys walking around carrying a bloody towel so – ah! Here we are: the infirmary. 'S not often I find these rooms when I want them – the TARDIS is always a right tease when it comes to the location of things. It can get a bit annoying after you've repeatedly bumped into a wall in the middle of the night, but you get used to it: 'S just part of her self-expression, seeing as how she can't really be heard." He gestured vaguely around the room, not pointing anywhere in particular "Have a seat, if you want."

* * *

**T,POV**

Theresa blinked, watching the Doctor rummaging one-handed through a cabinet in the corner. The infirmary was, well, nothing short of a miniature hospital: equipped with rolling bed-tables, I.V. hooks, metal carts with tools on them, an operating area, medical cabinets, sinks, and even a small space against the wall that served like a waiting area with a few chairs and a low table. There was also a wall lined with computer equipment that Theresa had never seen anything like before, as it appeared extremely complex and advanced.

It took the young woman a moment to realise the strange man was babbling again: something she'd noticed that he seemed to do quite a bit.

"… Not that you would know. I mean, by the looks of you, you can't be from any time-frame beyond the twenty-fourth century. The British discovered the rest of the Universe... oh, what was it, about forty-or-so years after the run in with the Sycorax? Maybe it was forty five… Oh – what am I going on about? I'm probably confusing you to no end right about now. In fact, I'm sure of it." The Doctor noted her blank expression; Theresa had repeatedly blinked in confusion as he'd talked, trying to follow along.

The Doctor had found whatever he was looking for and was presently applying a clear but blobby substance to the back of his head. In his other hand he held a jar labelled with a bunch of written characters that couldn't be anything close to English. He spoke again, sounding just as off-handed and unfazed as before.

"Let's start with me, since you undoubtedly have more questions than I do – after all I have a good idea of how I ended up here. But first, an explanation." The Doctor screwed the lid back onto the jar and placed it on a rolling metal tray before coming over to join Theresa where she had been standing since they'd entered the room.

The young woman didn't say anything. In truth, she couldn't. Her mouth had suddenly refused to work. This strange man's words were beginning to sink in, and her mind made connections…. connections that many other humans wouldn't normally have been able to make in such a time.

Theresa had put two and two together: this man owned a spaceship and he had asked her if she was human; his ship was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside; and it was filled with technology and labels written in a language she couldn't have even dreamed of. It made almost frustrating sense when the electric snap of logic made the light flicker on over her head.

This man was alien. It was as simple as that. An alien who spoke like he was from England.

Blood was suddenly heard rushing past her ears and she involuntarily closed her eyes; the floor rushed upward as her legs gave way.

Theresa Schwartz's body decided that it no longer wanted to be conscious.

* * *

Ha! Now I don't feel like a traitor, having not updated in so long. I have, regrettably, been very busy. Soo... how do you like it? The next chapter will hopefully be up soon. Editing a new chapter takes a while, but I'd rather edit than be flamed.

And that also means that I won't update as fast unless I get AT LEAST four reviews. It's really not that hard. All it takes is the a click of a button... especially the purplish button in the corner. That one makes everyone happy. C'mon. You know you want to!

[And yes, there **is **an 'or else' in the somewhere. Beware.

- Da Dragongirl


	5. Tea for Two

I need to make up for the last three chapters...

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Doctor Who OR any of the affiliated characters.

**Disclaimer**: Oh, look, this is me still not owning Doctor Who.

**Disclaimer**: I don't even own my sanity. What makes you think I own something like Doctor Who. Besides. I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I did - I'd be MAKING EPISODES.

**Last Disclaimer**: I STILL REALLY DON'T OWN DOCTOR WHO. No infringment of the BBC intended. I'm done.

I am SO SORRY for the wait. I've been struggling with time for the completion of this chapter. I'm going to shut up, now... seeing as how it's been so long...

_(Previously:_ _Blood was suddenly heard rushing past her ears and she involuntarily closed her eyes; the floor rushed upward as her legs gave way. _

_Theresa Schwartz's body decided that it no longer wanted to be conscious.)_

Okay. Moving on.**

* * *

**

**Chapter Five**

The Doctor observed the young woman for a moment, absently running a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in chaotic disarray; Theresa Schwartz lay in a heap on the floor, having dropped into a complete and total faint without any warning.

"Better late than never, as I always say," the Doctor murmured to himself; he figured the human girl would break eventually… he'd expected her denial of the situation to gradually disintegrate, and the realism had now set in, resulting in her limp form on the floor.

Heaving a sigh, he bent forward and scooped her up in his arms, heading to the control room. This was going to take longer to explain than he thought.

* * *

Theresa had had the craziest dream: one that involved a big blue box and a British alien in her apartment… The very thought of it made her head throb unappreciatively, like it wanted to deny the dream's existence. But the dream has seemed so real… utterly vivid in too many ways. It was unnerving.

_Hold on… when did I fall asleep? Did I pass out at the sink? I couldn't have… God, I must have been delusional last night – not enough shut-eye this week. At least it's Saturday – I can work on my essay today._

Groggily blinking herself awake, Theresa sat up on whatever she'd been laying on… something that was horribly uncomfortable, if the crick in her neck and the numbness in her leg was anything to go by. It also occurred to her that she wasn't on anything resembling a bed – or even a chair, for that matter; the surface of the object was hard and rough.

Theresa felt a wave of panic surge through her at this revelation, and she opened her eyes all the way, suddenly desperate to observe her surroundings. Her heat skipped a beat as the scene registered in her brain.

She was surrounded by coral-looking columns that resembled support beams leading to the ceiling; she was leaning against one of them, which explained her stiff neck. The room was dimly lit, save for the glow of a centre column that had a wide, almost egg-shaped base and a blue-green tube-thing that made up the top of the column, stretching to the dark ceiling above.

As soon as the image registered fully, Theresa's memory flooded back, catching up with her. The box, the man…

No, the _alien_. The man was _alien_ – like a Martian or something… his box-spaceship-thing was sitting in the middle of her bedroom; and it was all completely and utterly real, not anything even close to a dream.

_Meaning_, Theresa noted with brief chagrin; _that_ _I passed out in that medical bay._

Theresa started at the fact that she was alone in the room – a control room, by the looks of it – and her eyes widened. She observed her immediate area; she could hear a faint whistling or humming noise as she became more aware of her surroundings, noting that the air tasted slightly metallic and smelled of burnt rubber. She wrinkled her nose a moment, curious of the odour.

Cautiously, the young woman rose on shaky legs and slowly approached the centre column, again hearing the whistling that originated somewhere in her general vicinity; somewhere from across the room…

Moving carefully across the metal grating, Theresa peered over the base of the centre column; she observed it with suppressed interest: it resembled a control panel of sorts, laden and set with keypads, switches, buttons, levers, as well as a multitude of other gadgets that meant nothing to her at all, yet resembling things she did know. For instance, the glowing glass ball set into the panel that looked like one of the glass spheres that had air bubbles and colour blown into it.

As she crept around the column, whistling became louder, accompanied by muffled clinking and banging noises; it took a moment to recognise the whistling as a tune – rather off-key, but a tune all the same…

Suddenly a pair of shoes came into view, and, upon closer inspection, Theresa saw that the legs they belonged to were crossed at the ankles as their owner splayed on his back on the floor. Understanding finally clicked in her mind, Theresa walked all the way around the panel to stand next to the alien on the floor, whose upper half was obscured by the underside of the column's base.

* * *

Once the Doctor moved Theresa out of the Med Bay – as he knew there was nothing he could do for the young woman but wait for her to regain consciousness – he settled her in a more-or-less comfortable position against one of the TARDIS' support beams. Then, having become bored after a few minutes of observing her, he retreated to the underside of his ship, to begin repairs.

Presently, he was whistling and working on replacing some of the wiring leading to the main portion of the consol; of which, for some reason, many of them were fried beyond repair, their coverings popped and split and the wires frayed. The damage was horrible – not something that could be ignored. Dozens of questions played across the Doctor's mind, each as frustratingly unanswerable as the next.

_How long has it been like this? The impact didn't actually do anything to the TARDIS – it just gave us a good shove, __that's all. Shouldn't have knocked her unconscious… last I checked we weren't THAT connected, so me losing consciousness shouldn't have affected her in any way. And these wires – they're a bloody mess! They weren't anything like this when I checked them last – and that wasn't long ago, either. The consol wouldn't have functioned properly with the wires in such a state… unless…_

Something nudged against the Doctor's foot, but he was too involved in his work to notice; he brushed the thought aside as his imagination, continuing to whistle to himself.

_But what could have happened: a last-second power surge that happened after I lost consciousness, perhaps? What else is there? Theresa had said I was in her house… she seems too unaccustomed to the abnormal for this place to be much of a __hot spot for much alien activity. Once I'm-_

Something hard collided with his shin and he started in surprise, jerking forward and slamming his forehead into the underside of the consol. He winced as he wriggled himself out from underneath, holding a hand to his head as he did so. Once out, he looked up to see a young woman with short hair and an annoyed expression standing over him.

* * *

"You're awake!" he noted cheerily, rolling to his feet and wiping his hands on his pants, only succeeding in smearing grease all over them. Theresa blinked at him, suddenly noticing his entire appearance for the first time.

"So it would seem," she replied with a small sigh, taking in the alien's choice of clothing. He was wearing some kind of close-fitting, electric blue business suit… and as her eyes made a quick trip down to his feet, she noticed the extremely strange red shoes that he wore as well.

Were those _Converse_? _Okay_… Theresa blinked again, meeting the alien's eyes with a well-hidden look of puzzlement. Simply furthering her surprise, he jumped into conversation, hardly acknowledging her observing of his appearance.

"How are you feeling? Are you nauseas, dizzy, tired, stiff, sleepy, or maybe sick-to-your-stomach _bleh_?" The man – alien – in front of Theresa swiftly produced a silver object from his pocket and pressed a button on it, swiping it up and down as it buzzed. Fearing that it was some kind of funky alien device, she swiped a hand at it, trying to bat it away.

"You seem fine," he continued, stowing the device away, "but you never know with humans – always having their little fainting spells and such. Can't recall me ever passing out like that, but I s'pose there's a first time for everything…"

"I'll say," Theresa murmured as he continued.

"…Like having an Immortal of the same gender try and seduce you, for example. That was a bit of a first for me… although Jack did that before he was immortal, too… No matter. Having anything to do with an Immortal was a first for me, seductive male or not. I think that once-"

"Hate to interrupt you, here, but do you think you could explain a few things to me?" Theresa folded her arms across her chest, cocking an eyebrow as she cut in to the alien's bizarre monologue. "From what I've gathered, I know I passed out back there…" she waved a hand in the general direction of the Infirmary. "…But I distinctly remember you promising me an explanation for all of this. But first things first: why didn't you tell me you were an alien? If that's what you are, at least; I mean, I can only assume from what I've seen that you're not human; and also because of the references to humans you made, when you didn't include yourself." She stopped, trying not to confuse herself with bad sentence structure… although it seemed a bit late for that.

The alien was grinning. What had he said his name was, again? Something to do with being a doctor…?

"Oh, you're clever, aren't you? I rather like that! Making assumptions from the start, inferring all the time – a good quality to have in the scientific world, in my opinion." His grin broadened, if that was even possible. "And you're right – I _am_ an alien; a Time Lord, to be more specific. This is my spaceship, the TARDIS, as I believe we've already established. Incidentally, my ship also travels through time as well as space. A time machine, if you must." He winked.

Theresa let this sink in, trying not to close her mind to any concepts or ideas at this point in time. Time travel? Okay… he said he was a 'Time Lord', so maybe the two were relevant. Theresa corrected herself, _well; it's obvious_ _that his… race… is called that, seeing as how he's a 'time-traveller.' Duh._

"So you're an alien that travels through time and space, but you're also a doctor," Theresa asked, piecing together what she could remember.

"Correction: I am _the_ Doctor who travels through time and space; although, I do know quite a bit about medicine as well."

"_The_ Doctor," Theresa echoed.

"Precisely."

"As in, your _name_ is _the _Doctor."

"Yup," _the Doctor_ confirmed, popping the _p_.

"What, were your parents obsessed with medicine or something?" Theresa cocked her head to the side, considering something. "Or are you an alien that, like, comes from a planet that has really advanced medicine? Wait! Or do you just like to fix things?"

This time the Doctor stared at her, a blank look on his face; his grin had vanished, leaving behind a look of slight puzzlement.

"What?" Theresa suddenly felt self conscious, like she was being examined. It appeared that she was.

"It's just… well; I'm sort of waiting for you to freak out. You know: go through the whole 'oh my God you're not human' phase, and then start running in and out of the TARDIS trying to figure out how it's bigger on the inside." He scratched absently at his ear, brows drawn together. "You're just not handling it like I expected."

Theresa blushed faintly in slight chagrin, realising that she was acting quite differently than when she'd first discovered the blue Police Box in her bedroom.

"Actually, I wasn't anywhere near this calm when I first found your ship in my room. I mean, I practically had an aneurism, and I…"

Theresa's flushed face suddenly drained of colour, leaving her already pale skin whiter than before.

She'd forgotten about her phone call; she'd forgotten about the police.

All the time she'd spent inside the alien ship… What if they'd already come? What if they broke in because she hadn't answered the door, and her apartment was being searched at that very moment?

Theresa swore under her breath, spun around, and practically hurled herself in the direction of the ramp that led to the door.

* * *

The Doctor watched in confusion as the young woman high-tailed it down the ramp, flung open the door and bounded out of the TARDIS. He waited a moment before calmly striding after her, plucking his coat of the pillar and pulling the TARDIS' door shut behind him.

He strolled out, taking a moment to assess his location – Theresa's slightly cluttered bedroom, from what he could tell. Her simple and half-made bed showed signs of early-morning rush, and a sliding closet door was open just wide enough to reveal a few articles of clothing strewn across its insides. There actually wasn't much in her bedroom – furniture was sparse, consisting only of an old desk and a hand-me-down bed-side table. A worn-looking laptop sat closed on the desk, accompanied by a small lamp, a picture frame, and a few dull-looking textbooks with worn spines.

_The room of a college student, no doubt_, the Doctor thought, continuing on into what was obviously the hallway.

The Doctor heard a thumping sound – someone pounding on a door or a wall, by the sound of it – and followed it, assuming it was wherever Theresa had disappeared to. There was a jingling of metal against metal, a clicking noise, and the sound of a door being pulled open.

He leaned his head around the entrance to the hallway, peering into the den. Again, it was sparsely furnished, but homey nonetheless.

Theresa was standing in the doorway, stammering over her words as she struggled to explain something to her visitor. He caught the middle of the conversation.

"… I told them to call it off," she insisted.

"That's not what I was told, ma'am. They specifically said that you hung up without answering their question."

"But – I – my phone has really bad service; it must have lost the signal, because I clearly remember telling them what was wrong. I absolutely swear I answered their question."

"Is there any particular reason why you didn't call back?" The visitor pressed, becoming impatient.

"I – no, it's just-"

"Is there a problem, here, officer?" The Doctor had quietly appeared behind Theresa and was now leaning over her head and around the door, staring down at their visitor, who was none other than a copper. The uniform was obviously American – the Doctor didn't need to see the badge to know that; the accent alone was enough on its own, even without the style of dress.

"Yes, there is," the officer looked up at the Doctor, his sudden appearance hardly even registering in the cop's mind for the first few moments. He blinked, double-taking to look up at the Doctor's face. "And you are?"

* * *

Theresa looked up, startled, at the tall figure that had appeared behind her. Somehow she'd managed to forget his existence in the past minute. The Doctor was staring confidently at the police officer on her porch; instead of answering the question, he reached into his coat and produced a black wallet-looking thing, flipped it open, and presented it to the officer. The man read it over a moment, whatever "it" was, and then his face suddenly morphed into that of a deer standing in the path of an oncoming car. He stared back up at the Doctor in shock and embarrassment.

"My apologies, Detective Smith. I was unaware they had sent someone from…"

"Quite right, too… Mr. Perry." Theresa watched as he flicked a glance at the cop's badge, hunting for a name. She looked dumbly from officer to alien, then back to the cop and then at the Doctor. Whatever he had shown the policeman was now stowed securely away again… and Detective Smith? Where had that come from?

Theresa simply stared wordlessly at the two men, confused and utterly lost.

"I can assure you that everything is under my control, officer. You're free to go."

The officer looked a little defiant. "I would like to see the article in question, first, myself, please. I have been instructed to at least do that much."

"As I said, everything is fine. I can confidently say that your services are no longer required. I'll alert your supervisor that you arrived after me, and I'm sure he'll understand."

"I'm not too sure-"

"I stand by what I say. However, if you would like me to report to your supervisor that you refused to comply with my request, I will _also_ include that in my report."

The threat hung in the air, and Theresa watched with growing interest as the officer on her doorstep paled. She had no idea that the alien had such an effect on people… it was almost frightening. He seemed to have the ultimate mood swings… like "Emotions On Demand" or something; changing at the drop of a hat.

The young woman continued to watch the pair, having long abandoned her attempts to understand, and was simply intrigued by the exchange.

Officer Perry stood on the step, looking dumbfounded and flushed. "Yes, Mr. Smith. I don't think I'd be of any use anyway…" He curtly tipped his policeman's hat and took a step back. "I'll report back and tell them it's under your control, sir. Good day, sir. Ma'am."

And then the man was sweeping away down the stairs and across the sidewalk, almost jogging in his attempt to be as far away as fast as possible. In the next moment he had disappeared behind the buildings, following the path that led to the parking lot.

Theresa watched him go, not quite knowing what to say and deciding not to even speak. She turned, wordlessly, to the Doctor and gave him a questioning look. She found that he was grinning, an almost comical glint of mischief noticeable in his eyes.

Again, his mood swings continued to amaze her.

The Doctor looked down at her and gestured inside, to her living room, still wearing a smug grin.

"Shall we?" He asked. "I still owe you an explanation, judging by your expression."

Theresa only nodded, opening her mouth to speak but thinking better of it. She shrugged for lack of a better response.

The young woman sighed softly. Perhaps she was incapable of using her tongue, but that didn't stop her brain from coming up with a trillion questions anyway. Who was this man/alien, really? Where did he come from? How did his 'ship' function – more specifically, how had it just appeared in her room? What had he shown that officer – and Detective Smith? What, was that his real name instead of _the Doctor_?

Unable to answer any of the questions herself, she closed the door and locked it, not even trying to think of an explanation for everything that had happened.

* * *

Theresa, mind obviously overrun with a hoard of thoughts, didn't notice that the Doctor had been watching her patiently, waiting for her to come to her senses so he could begin his explanation. She sank absently into a chair that faced the kitchen, looking blank and overwhelmed.

"Right, then," he clapped his hands together. "As an overview, I'm the Doctor; I travel through time and space in my ship called the TARDIS – that's T-A-R-D-I-S, by the way, and it stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space – which is bigger on the inside. Well, _technically_ it's not bigger on the inside; it's just that you're stepping through the door into another dimension that happens to exist inside the TARDIS itself. Anyway, I am not human – I am a Time Lord, to be specific, and I'm from a completely different part of the Universe in a constellation trillions and zillions of light-years away. My home planet was called Gallifrey, making me a Gallifreyen. A Time Lord is only slightly different than a Gallifreyen, and yes, that does make me both a Gallifreyen and a Time Lord. Rather complicated, and I can elaborate on that later.

"So, in terms of what my ship is doing in your bedroom… let's see. Well, for starters, my ship doesn't exactly fly or float like spaceships do in the cinema – although there are hundreds of alien cultures that do have those types of ships, although it's mainly the advanced ones – instead, it materialises and dematerialises, meaning it sort of fades from sight and reappears wherever and whenever you decide to go. So, you could dematerialise from one spot and return to the space right next to a moment later. I can go anywhere I want, really, at any time at all. With some exceptions, but I won't confuse any more than necessary." He winked.

The Doctor had been wandering about the room, observing everything he could reach while simultaneously continuing his explanation. Theresa was doing her best to be attentive, now leaning forward on her chair as she attempted to keep up with the alien's rapid speech.

"As to _why_ I'm here, however, that is another story. As it happens, I ended up here purely by accident. You see, I was on this planet, you know, just sort of snooping around; but the sun next door was about to undergo a supernova, and I had to run back to the TARDIS. I didn't quite make it out in time, and the supernova hit us just before we fully disappeared. It knocked me across the room when it hit – resulting in the lovely state you found me in earlier – and fried a bunch of the TARDIS' wiring…" he trailed off, almost without noticing it. Theresa watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, brows drawn together slightly.

"Tea?" he suddenly said, expression bright and cheery again.

"Theresa started slightly by the sudden change in topic, blinking in confusion. "What?"

"Tea. Would you like some tea?" The Doctor pantomimed lifting a cup to his mouth, hoping to emphasise his point. Theresa blinked again.

"I don't really… drink… tea," she mumbled, but the Doctor hadn't waited for an answer and was already in the kitchen, rifling through her cabinets.

"'Course you don't!" He said, craning his neck to peer into her kitchen's top pantry. "You're American. Americans don't drink tea, they drink coffee. Rancid stuff, coffee. I don't know how you humans stand it. It's no wonder you've come up with all those different kinds – the original kind was disgusting, so you improvised! Lattés, mochas, espressos and the like – how do you keep track of them all?" He bent down, rummaging through another cabinet. "I should influence the Americans to start drinking some good, straightforward tea. It's a right lot better for you than coffee, and it doesn't taste half as horrid. Not at all… here we are!"

Theresa watched as his head popped up from behind the counter; he was holding a water kettle and a mug. He set the cup on the counter and turned on the faucet, filling the kettle with water.

"Where was I? Oh yes." The Doctor slipped his hand into his trench-coat pocket, and to Theresa's surprise his arm disappeared all the way up to his elbow, and he dug around for a moment. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and produced a small tin from the strangely cavernous pocket. "There we are – knew that tea was in there somewhere."

The young woman watched in fascination as he 'put the kettle on' and leaned against the small kitchen counter.

"You actually have _tea_ on… Gallifrey?" Theresa struggled with the name, hoping she'd said it right. Somehow the concept of an entire planet of aliens drinking a human beverage wouldn't form a logical picture in her mind.

"Of course! Tea is like a Universal indulgence! Been around for millions of years. Best medicinal beverage in the Universe, tastes better than coffee, and it's good for you. Not to mention the caffeine. You humans can't survive without that."

Theresa shrugged. "Well, I can't recall seeing anything other than generic brands at the store, and those are gross." She sighed, shifting on the chair. "Welcome to America."

The Doctor's mouth formed into a grin, showing almost all his teeth as he opened his mouth to respond.

But the door beat him to it.

The loud _rap-rap-rap_ of knuckles against wood made Theresa jump and the Doctor started in surprise.

"Expecting another officer?" He asked, continuing to grin cheekily; Theresa shook her head, not bothering to address his humour.

"I wasn't expecting anyone, actually…" She hopped off of the chair and hurried to the door, standing on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.

Straining to see through the tiny hole, Theresa made out a tall figure in casual dress, with sand-coloured hair and a sharp jaw.

Her heart practically stopped, but then compensated for its loss and began exploding in her chest.

Fiddling with the simple lock, Theresa opened the door a crack to meet her unexpected visitor.

"David! What are you doing here?"

David Sanchez stood on the porch, harbouring an expression Theresa recognised as worry, despite how well it was hidden. The most obvious evidence faded from his sharp grey eyes after a moment, but still left creases on his forehead. Theresa's boyfriend looked down at her through a lock of sandy hair that had strayed into his face, seeming more anxious than worried, now.

"Theresa – what happened?"

She blinked, mentally bending the facts to fit her situation, simultaneously trying to push the hysteric truth from her mind. "What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong… why? Did you hear something?" She eased herself out onto the porch, leaving the door slightly ajar.

_After all,_ she thought, _there is an alien – a male alien – in my kitchen_. Not to mention the spaceship in her bedroom. At least the Doctor could be hidden… who knows what the neighbours thought that bang was?

"I was trying to call you – about tomorrow, you know – but your phone isn't working. It keeps disconnecting me for some reason. Your house phone doesn't work either, and I got worried. I was on my way home, anyway, so I took a detour and came down this way." His gaze flicked over her confused expression, and then towards the door. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, house is a mess right now. I've got dishes in the sink, I'm sorting laundry… you know." Theresa grinned teasingly, vaguely wondering what he'd meant by 'tomorrow.' "Woman stuff. You wouldn't want to come in."

David Sanchez grimaced. "Okay… so, tomorrow, right? What time should I pick you up?"

That was what he'd meant! In all the commotion, she'd forgotten the existence of the date they'd planned for Saturday – tomorrow night.

The young woman tried not to look frantic as she waved away his request.

"No – you don't have to pick me up. I can ride. It's not that far."

Her boyfriend cocked an eyebrow. "I can't let you do that. That's not how it works."

"You can't let me keep my already low levels of dignity?" Theresa fit more comfortably in her role, continuing to bend the truth for his questions. "Since when is that fair?"

"It's traditional," he insisted with a smirk, leaning close as if to kiss her.

Theresa was about to blurt out a good comeback when a high-pitched whistling could be heard from inside her apartment. She winced as David's attention was drawn from her to the door.

"What the he-"

"That would be the tea kettle..." Theresa glanced nervously at the door.

"You drink _tea_?"

The tea kettle stopped whistling the moment he'd asked the question. Theresa froze, and an ominous silence hung over the pair. She didn't have an answer to his question, nor an explanation as to why the kettle had suddenly ceased howling. But she didn't need to.

A tall, thin figure appeared in the doorway, holding a mug in one hand and head towering over Theresa's as he leaned against the doorframe. He flashed his now familiar million-watt smile.

"Nope, but I do."


	6. Between the Lines

**Disclaimer**: Now, really, if iyou recognise it, it's probably NOT mine. Although i really want a sonic screwdriver.. or maybe some psychic paper... that'd be nice. or the Doctor's coat. It'd be too long for me, being a meagre five-three-point-five inches (dunno was that is in kilometres), but i like trench coats. oh, i'm rambling, aren't I? sorry.

I'm sooooo sorry! It's taken so long... but we're moving and it takes work and time and I have homework and, and...

Sigh. Anyway, here's chapter six. it's a bit undramatic at the moment, but i promise that it will get better. There's adventure coming, just... not yet. sigh again. keep reading!

p.s. I have only a two weeks left in this house! woo!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Theresa simply stood between the two men, face paling before flushing pink. She looked to her boyfriend, flashing him a nervous grin that hardly lasted long enough to be anything more than a twitch of her lips. David's face had morphed from confusion, to shock, to what was now obvious anger.

The Doctor continued to lean in the doorway, grinning like the madman he proved himself to be… Mad-alien. Extraterrestrial. Whatever.

"Who is he?" David demanded, forehead creased as his brows drew together. Theresa understood his train of thought, wincing.

Theresa smiled feebly. She turned slightly, gesturing up at the skinny figure behind her. "This is –"

For the third or fourth time that day, Theresa was unable to speak for herself. The Doctor hopped forward, whisking free hand out of his suit pocket for a handshake… which David didn't even acknowledge.

"The Doctor," he finished for Theresa, grin fading slightly at the young man's reaction.

_Oh, so now he uses his "__real name," _Theresa thought, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

David stared at the Doctor with a look that said "you're a weirdo" in plain English. He looked at Theresa, an eyebrow raised. The young woman knew by the squirming of her stomach that this was not going to end well.

"You said you were doing housework," he accused, voice dropping a few noticeable octaves.

_But I was!_ Theresa defended silently. _At least, before an alien ship appeared in my bedroom I was. Although I don't suppose that counts…_

Instead, Theresa said nothing, giving him a blank and noticeably apologetic look. For once, in her entire history as someone who bent the truth to get out of sticky situations, the young woman had absolutely no idea what to say to explain herself.

And this revelation was extremely and utterly terrifying. Theresa hated every second of it.

"I was…" she mumbled, wanting to look away but finding herself incapable of doing so, trapped feebly in her boyfriend's intense, ice-grey eyes, continuously striking a blank as she scrounged for an explanation.

David, obviously realising he wasn't getting the answers he wanted from her, turned to the alien in the doorway instead.

"Who're you?"

* * *

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor quipped, trying a second time to get a handshake. His hand was denied again, and he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Talk about testy… and suspicious. He couldn't really blame him for that, though… now that he thought about it, the situation _was_ rather awkward. 

"What are you doing here?" David demanded.

"Oh, I'm just a friend. Terry said she wanted a bit of help with her geometric calculations, so I came by. We were just having a bit of a chat a moment ago, nothing much." The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels, sipping at tea from his mug. "Helped myself to some tea, as you can see; that was the kettle you heard a moment ago. Theresa didn't want any of it though – it's not very American to drink tea, I don't think. I'm more of Brit myself – born and raised in London, actually, as I'm sure you've noticed of course – I mean, with my accent you can't really miss it, but…"

David finally worked up the coherence to cut in, slightly baffled by his ramble. Theresa had been grimacing every since he'd called her "Terry."

"So what did you say his name was again?" He asked. Theresa looked back up at the Doctor, seeming helpless. He easily came to her rescue, billion-watt grin back in its place.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor repeated for the third time. He hid his annoyance well, becoming agitated at having to repeat himself.

"What kind of doctor?"

"Just the Doctor."

"_Just_… the Doctor?"

"Just the Doctor," the Time Lord confirmed; it seemed that, quite literally, he'd been through this exact dialogue almost a thousand times, if not more.

"The Doctor…" David echoed slowly, looking doubtful.

The Doctor gave a little wave. "Hello!"

David stared at the alien wearily, his gaze searching as he tried to figure out the person in front of him. The Doctor's façade was so thick and convincing that the young man could scarcely begin to lift the surface layer that shielded the real alien beneath. Anyone who had been around the Doctor long enough to know him could always tell when he was avoiding something, but there had been a scarce few that had ever been able to actually read him.

_Only four_, he thought solemnly, although his expression hadn't shifted in the slightest and his carefully placed mask remained in place. _Just__ Sarah Jane, Ace, Martha… and Rose_, he added, his chest contracting painfully at her name. The human he would, no, _could_ never see again.

_But__ back to business_, he told himself. He couldn't wallow about in his pain; he'd learned that centuries ago… but the concept didn't seem to stick very well; the Doctor always found himself straying back to her, to Gallifrey, to all the friends and loved ones he'd lost to the War and the battle of Canary Wharf.

_Enough of such thoughts_, he insisted again. Terry was beginning to look uncomfortable… at least, more so than before. David had given up on his study of the Time Lord's face and presently sighed, shifting his gaze back to his brunette girlfriend.

"I have homework to do," he stated in a low, flat voice. "I'll let you get back to your… work. If you're still interested in going out tomorrow, let me know. I'll be free."

* * *

Theresa noted with discomfort that his tone left little room for welcome, and simply nodded her head in response. She knew that tone, and it didn't mean anything good. 

David said nothing more before turning his back on Theresa and descending the stairs; he set off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk, disappearing behind the buildings just as the policeman had. The young woman stared after him, heaving a sigh and running her nails through her hair, pushing it back and out of her eyes. She was going to have to talk to him tomorrow, once she'd had a chance to devise her excuse and explanation. No matter how much she hated lying to David, _somehow_ she knew that trying to tell him that an alien appeared in her house about an hour (forty-five minutes or so) ago before he arrived… being both naturally on the jealous side _and_ a guy, he would take it in a _way_ different sense than Theresa would intend, and the situation would become worse.

Lingering a moment in silence, Theresa noticed for the first time that the darkness had wrapped itself around the sky and settled in quite comfortably since she'd last looked – actually _looked_ – out the window. _Since_, Theresa realised suddenly,_ I was last a simple human being with no comprehension of the rest of the Universe… it took this one event and… poof, comprehension levels through the roof. It's mind blowing… I'm standin' next to an alien from a different galaxy, whose spaceship is in my bedroom. That's… well, call me insane, but that's awesome. 'S not every day you-_

The Doctor drew the young woman out of her thoughts, probably having noticed her distant expression.

"I really don't know what you see in him," he commented dryly, stuffing his left hand back in his pocket. "Didn't even introduce himself – wouldn't have a handshake either. A little testy… and suspicious."

Theresa threw him a look. "You can't really blame him, you know." She sighed, sweeping her hair back again. "I'm going to have to talk to him tomorrow."

Theresa saw the Doctor roll his eyes out of her peripheral vision. She pressed her lips together in slight annoyance.

_I bet you're some kind of player_, the brunette accused silently, turning to the door and resigning to her living room once more. _Just some crazy, alien dude that's afraid of commitment and makes Jerry Lewis look normal_. The teasing thought made her lips twitch upward for a moment. Okay, maybe that was a little bit of an overstatement. Jerry Lewis _was_ insane, and – so far – the Doctor didn't seem that crazy.

So far.

Grinning now, Theresa wandered to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, as the Doctor drained the last of his tea and closed the door behind him. She looked again at his strange attire, an electric blue-ish suit with a brown trench coat and red Converse. _Red Converse_. Now that… that was unexpected. Aliens with Converse… they had Converse on Gallifrey? Or did he enjoy Earth shopping? Either seemed highly unlikely, but… so did the concept of him, an _alien_, appearing in her bedroom. She didn't have any room to talk, really.

Even so, the statement remained: he didn't seem that crazy _so far_.

Theresa simply continued to smile faintly as she absently poured herself a cup of the still-steaming tea.

* * *

The Doctor lifted his mug for a final time, draining the dregs of his tea and rolling his shoulders. He pushed the door to Theresa's apartment closed and joined the little human in the tiny kitchen. To his amusement, she was pouring herself a cup of his water for tea. He didn't notice her upturned smile, since she had her back to him; unable to see her face, he was under the impression she was angry… he _had_ driven away her boyfriend… _Although_, he thought with a smirk, _it wouldn't be the first time. Seem to have made a habit of driving off people's boyfriends_. 

The Doctor leaned against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen, setting his empty mug on the counter and slipping his hands into his suit pockets. Theresa remained with her back to him, simply holding the tea she'd just made.

"Are you angry with me?" He asked finally, still casually leaning against the wall. Theresa shrugged. This time she turned around, but she didn't appear angry at all… at least, not the hormonal-female-angry he was used to seeing on the face of a Tyler… However, the quirk of her lips expressed an air of confidence he only knew too well – it took its place on his own mouth on a regular basis.

"Am I supposed to be?" She asked, inhaling the steam from her cup.

"No," he said, almost too quickly. He mentally kicked himself. "I should think you have a reason to be, but… I don't really… you know…_want_ you to be angry at me." The Doctor scratched at his ear, suddenly uneasy.

"I don't think you'd want me to be angry at you, either. I mean, not to be stereotypical, but that's just stupid."

He didn't say anything, just stood awkwardly in the kitchen's entrance.

"Do you remember what you were saying before David knocked?" She asked suddenly, brows coming together slightly, as if she was struggling to remember something. "My short-term memory isn't as good as it used to be."

The Doctor didn't know what she meant by the latter statement, but he nodded. "I believe it had something to do with tea."

"No, I meant before that," she said. "We were talking about something else before you started making tea. We weren't talking about tea the entire time, I remember that much." She chuckled softly. "My memory isn't _that_ bad."

What she'd really meant was, okay_, so you're evading the truth, now, aren't you?_

She was sharper than he gave her credit for. He'd deliberately changed the topic to tea – he had cut off in his explanation of how he'd discovered the frayed wiring beneath the TARDIS. He'd trailed off a moment, before interjecting with the topic of tea so that he could distract her from the obvious – she could already read him so well that lying would be pointless. Subtle game that it was, Theresa had proven herself extremely capable of catching on, just like a fly in a spider web; even if she hadn't actually said it in words, the meaning was there.

"I was telling you about the TARDIS, then," he said after a moment, keeping his expression flat as he played along. "Ring any bells?"

This time Theresa nodded, sipping at the tea and looking as if a thought had struck her. "Oh! I remember now. You were telling me how you got here. Something about wiring, I believe."

Yep, she was playing along with him in a game of hidden words. What she really meant was, _are you going to finish telling me about it or are you going to skate around it all day?_

"Yes, I was. The supernova damaged quite a bit of the wiring in the TARDIS' consol. I'm going to have to fix that before I can get going again."

Theresa's eyebrow went up. "So once you fix it, you're just going to leave? Just like that?" She sipped at her tea again. "Back to travelling through time or whatever it is you do?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. There it was; the point of the matter. In essence, she was asking, _what now?_ "Pretty much, yeah."

"Okay, then." Theresa had said it a tad too fast, and it gave her away. "What do you _do_, anyway? Like, do you have an occupation or something? I mean, what do Time Lords do with their time? No pun intended," she added hastily, grinning faintly.

_You mean besides being a bunch of pompous idiots? Let me think…_ The Doctor shifted off his left foot to his right, leaning against the counter as he remembered the rigid society that Gallifrey had been. Rules and regulations every corner you turned – it had been one of the reasons why he'd stolen his TARDIS and left the planet to begin with!

However, despite his ability to skilfully evade direct questions, it was obvious the human had control of the conversation already; he had yet to change that. "I'm a bit of wanderer, actually. Helping planets in need and such… visiting random places and seeing the sights."_Saving the Universe…_ he added to himself.

"Sounds exciting." There was real enthusiasm there, he noted. "How many places have you been to? Like, what's out there, in that vast expanse of Universe?"

Good questions, he noted again.

"Oh, I've been loads of places… like Raxicoricofalapatorius, for example. Took a month for us to pronounce it, but it was a nice, on-the-run experience."

He mentally kicked himself, having slipped up and said "us" instead of "me." Theresa was bound to have caught that. Of course, as was his current run of luck, she did.

"Us?" She asked. "You've got a friend, then. That's good – you won't have to wander around the Universe like a zombie if you've got a friend. Can't imagine being alone in the middle of nowhere like that."

But the way her eyes went distant for a moment told him otherwise. She_could_ imagine it – that much was made clear.

"I used to travel with someone else," he stated experimentally, both gauging her reaction and offering some truthful background. "She's gone now, though."

Theresa digested his words a moment, but didn't respond. Her eyes were distant again, and she was drinking her now cooled tea.

Somehow the Doctor had the feeling she already knew what he meant without having to ask. Even so…

"Have you ever lost someone?" He probed quietly. Theresa didn't meet his gaze this time.

"Yes."

The word was simple, final. Both human and Time Lord understood, and neither pushed the matter; the Doctor knew better than to irritate an already sensitive spot. The two were silent for a moment, both distant and uneasy.

To his surprise, Theresa was the first to recover. "So when do you think you're ship's gonna be ready to go again?"

The Doctor looked up at her, meeting her gaze for the first time in nearly five minutes. It was going to be hard leaving behind another one, wasn't it? Alone again. But he couldn't let selfishness get in the way of another person's safety. Saving the Universe was too dangerous – the Doctor himself was dangerous, as Donna had pointed out before. He wouldn't do it. Not again. Not after all that…

"Oh, I dunno. A week, maybe? There's a lot to fix, unfortunately… I'm going to need to replace all of the wiring if I can't mend it, which is likely. 'S very time consuming."

He wasn't going to hurt another companion again, but that didn't mean he couldn't stall the day of his departure. He _was_ going to relish the company for as long as he could, even if it meant putting off some of his work.

Sacrificing adventure for a bit of company was worth it, wasn't it?

He was going to find out. That was for sure.

Because he couldn't stand the idea of being alone again.

* * *

awwwww. are you sad now? it wasn't meant to be THAT sad, but it really is one of those moments that just makes you want to give him a great, big hug. 

but if you really want a sad fic, read my other one-shot, To Be Alone. 'S really sad, but, being the author, I think it's good..

oh, and review!! I offer trivia and cookies in return.

(did u know that David Tennant is Scottish and has a really thick accent? i didn't! it's weird how he sounds perfectly british in the show. now i can look at him and go, SCOTTIE!! pardon my rambles and review!)

Reviews make the world go round! I am also asking for input - is there anything you'd like to see later on? a line you think i should use? a scene i should include? Tell me in a REVIEW!! PLEASE. this is me trying not to beg and failing miserably.


	7. Interrogative Revelations

**Disclaimer**: I own less than you know. I mean, all my possessions now fit into two suitcases, a backpack, and a shoulderbag. Seriously. Still dreaming about that sonic screwdriver, though... XD

I haven't forgotten you!! We're in the middle of moving around the world right now - from California, USA, to Brisbane, Australia. Really. I haven't had time to do anything on the internet until yesterday, our first full day here at my dad's house in Oklahoma. (we're visitng family) I mean, we had, literally, a few weeks to clear out our entire apartment, and it's just me and my mom. So NO COMPLAINING. I have been extremely busy, and thank god its almost over.

(ps.) IT'S NOT FAIR!! IM IN AMERICA, AND THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE FOURTH SEASON IS ON TONITE IN AUSTRALIA AND EUROPE!! WHY DO WE HAVE TO BE SO BEHIND?! 'sobs'

anyway ill let you get back to the reading... 'sniffle'

**Chapter Seven**

Whatever Theresa had been feeling in terms of uneasiness was hidden well and she began to go about her business like the exchange had meant nothing. The Doctor felt odd for a moment, realising for the first time what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his evasive techniques, which were so extremely similar. He'd never noticed it before… it was strange.

* * *

"Thanks for coming to my rescue back there," she said, beginning to run water at her sink so she could wash her cup. She smiled slightly. "Although, if the tea kettle hadn't gone off I'd have been fine. That completely messed me up."

"Oh, so now you're blaming me?" The Doctor kept his face teasingly serious, and she grinned wider.

"No, I'm blaming the kettle!"

"So you're blaming my tea, then?"

"Yes! Wait – no! I mean…" She trailed off, knowing that he was teasing her but not knowing what to say otherwise. The alien was laughing, and she crossed her arms, rolled her eyes. "That's not fair," she stated, trying not to grin.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"It is."

"It really isn't."

"Yes, it really is."

"Yes it is."

"No, it isn't. Wait – what? Hey!" He straightened up, looking indignant. Theresa laughed outright this time and turned to the sink again.

"It's nice to know you see things my way," she said, turning off the water and drying the mug.

"Now that – _that_ wasn't fair!" The Doctor looked annoyed, probably trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Is too."

"Don't start that again."

Theresa just grinned and stood on tiptoe to put the cup away. _I bet he scored good points on the debate team_, she thought.

"Why not? Afraid I'll get you again?"

The alien huffed, giving her a Look. "You sure are bold for someone talking to an alien."

"I've been called eccentric at the very least."

"I can see why…" he muttered; Theresa wasn't sure if he'd meant for her to hear. She just grinned again.

"And I've also been known to have the ears of an owl," she added. "And you have no room to talk – since when do aliens with British accents wear red American Converse?"

He blinked. "I do a lot of running."

"But why _red_? I mean, _black_ I can understand, but… are you _trying_ to stand out?" _His hair's enough_, she thought. _Colour it black and he could pass off as a Halloween decoration, like one of those cats with its fur on end_. "I don't suppose an alien tries to go around advertising himself. Or herself."

"I'm the Doctor. I'm _allowed_ to be eccentric. Besides – how do you know that everyone else on my planet doesn't dress like this?" Theresa applauded his challenge with a nod of her head.

"Well, for one – you just called yourself eccentric. And two, you would have mentioned it sooner if they did. Any other excuses you can think of while I'm here?" She leaned away from the sink and started towards the living room. The Doctor blinked and only watched her cross the threshold into the den; Theresa sank into the chair in the corner and began to watch him expectantly.

* * *

The Doctor had never expected someone to outdo him within such a short period of time. He hadn't expected the wit; Theresa's levels of boldness almost matched his own. That was unheard of!

Flip-flopping through emotions, being stuck between annoyance and amusement, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair and left the kitchen. He found Theresa watching him from the corner of the den, looking curious from her seat in the oversize chair.

"Do you get haircuts?" She asked suddenly, all curiosity. She didn't seem to be using any sarcastic wit this time, but that didn't mean anything. The best comedians could slip in jokes without making it seem like a joke.

"Occasionally. Why?" The Doctor was taken aback by the randomness of her question.

"You have a lot of hair." She cocked her head. "If you spiked it, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you with gelled hair, or just you running your hand through it. It sticks up really bad."

The Doctor felt the top of his head, tried to smooth his hair down. The little human smirked.

"It didn't work."

He tried again. She shook her head, smirk widening into a grin.

The Doctor flattened his hair to his head; it must have done _something_ that time.

"I think that just made it worse."

Sighing, the Time Lord sank into the couch across from her. "At least I _have_ hair," he muttered. His ninth regeneration had had barely any hair… and made up for it in the size of his nose and ears. If you could call them ears… they were like radar receptors.

"Why do you speak English if you're an alien? Shouldn't you speak, like, Gallifreyen or something?"

He applauded her on pronunciation. "I speak English fluently, as well as Gallifreyen," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "It wouldn't matter if I didn't anyway. The TARDIS would translate for us."

"What d'you mean?"

"The TARDIS. She's gets into your head and makes it sound like the other person is speaking your language." He made it sound obvious.

"It sounds painful when you put it like that," Theresa stated bluntly, brows furrowing for a moment.

There was a pause. But only momentarily.

"If you're from Gallifrey, why do you look Human?"

"The question is," the Doctor shot back, "why do you look Gallifreyen if you're from Earth?"

She dipped her head. "Touché." Theresa shifted her position, pulling her legs beneath her. "How old are you?"

More questions. "Old," he admitted dryly.

"You don't look old."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"So how old are you, then? And in numbers, not estimates."

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Yet here I am, making casual conversation with an alien that has a time-ship that's bigger on the inside." She cocked an eyebrow challengingly. "Try me."

He sighed, leaning back. "Nine-hundred."

The eyebrow went up a little farther. "Nine-hundred what?"

The Doctor blinked; baffled by the sheer wit she could incorporate into her questions.

"Years," he replied simply, hoping Theresa would relent. According to his current run of luck, she didn't.

"How long are your years on Gallifrey?"

"Well… I meant, nine-hundred Earth-years."

"Ah, okay." The eyebrow went down, but the suspicious glint in her eyes didn't. He couldn't get away from this one… at least, not yet. It was unnerving, if not just annoying.

"You come to Earth often?"

"I gravitate over here every once and a while," he said, almost untruthfully. He didn't spend all his time on Earth… just some of the time.

"Why?" Back to the genuine curiosity. The Doctor was becoming annoyed at being interrogated, but he tried to keep his temper in check.

"It's a bit like Gallifrey," he said simply, scratching at his ear in slight unease.

"You mean like a home away from home…" Theresa glanced in the direction of her bedroom, "…away from home?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He grinned at her inflection, but it faded slightly as he realised she had already inferred that the TARDIS was his actual home. She was proving herself better and better by the minute…

"Okay, then…" Theresa sat back and seemed to contemplate something. "Why not travel with another Gallifreyen? You can't be that annoying."

It took him a minute to process the full meaning of her words. "I am not annoying," he insisted, looking indignant.

"Maybe not, but you _are_ argumentative," Theresa reiterated, looking comfortable and calm as she continued to steer their conversation.

"I am _not_ argumentative, either!"

The young human stared at him a moment, then began to grin again. It took the Doctor a moment to realise that he'd contradicted himself. He huffed, sending her another Look.

"Alright, maybe I am. But I have the right to be defensive."

Theresa just grinned at him. The Doctor's energy had been awakened with their "conversation" and, having become both bored of sitting and annoyed of the way Theresa could so easily steer their conversation, he rose to his feet and busied himself with her bookshelf. He'd never been one to sit for very long… many of his recent companions had come to realise that rather quickly.

"You look human," Theresa started again, "so what makes you different from us?"

"Two hearts, I have a higher mental capacity than a human, a much more efficient immune response, and a respiratory bypass system." The Doctor sounded completely nonchalant as he perused her books.

There was a pause as Theresa chewed on this concept.

"Higher mental capability?" She inquired; there was a raised eyebrow in her voice.

He allowed himself a grin. "A Time Lord utilises the majority of his brain, and humans only use about ten percent. We are much more telepathic race."

"Telepathic, how? Like, can you read minds or something?"

"Not directly, no," the Doctor replied, running a finger along the spine of a novel by Elizabeth George. "You like these kinds of books?"

"How do you 'indirectly' read someone's mind?" Theresa ignored his question.

"You wouldn't understand the sciencey part of it."

Theresa raised an eyebrow again, but skimmed over his comment. "Can you levitate things?"

"What? No – that's against the laws of physics. Well, there are certain ways to lift objects without touching them, but not in the way you mean."

"Huh. Alright, then… two hearts. What's that about?"

The Doctor let out a sigh that barely concealed his exasperation. "Is there a purpose to this interrogation? I don't think it's necessary for me to confess my entire biology and life's story for no reason." He turned to meet her gaze, but she seemed unfazed. Theresa shrugged.

"Just curious. It's not every day I meet an extraterrestrial, you know." She shifted her position again. "I'm simply taking advantage of the opportunity. In the name of science, you might say."

The Doctor studied her for a moment. "Have you ever considered that you're not really awake and that this is all a dream?"

"I'm not that creative," she replied bluntly. "Besides. If you were a figment of my imagination, you probably wouldn't be British. Or wear Converse. _Or_ travel in a time machine that looks like a police box."

The Time Lord brushed that idea aside. He was really having a hard time stealing the reins from the little human. Who knew a simple college student could overtake him so easily?

"What _would_ I look like?" He cocked an eyebrow

"Jerry Lewis. Or some freakish creature that looked like that thing from _Alien_." She shrugged again. The Doctor scratched his ear, annoyance turning into acceptance of the fact he had no power over Theresa whilst he tried to push the image of the movie she'd mentioned out of his head. A human equal… he hadn't had that since… since Rose. Rose had suggested they watch that movie, he recalled… she hadn't slept decently for two days after that…

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said after a moment, "Where and when am I? I mean, it's not that I usually know where I end up anyway – the TARDIS sees to that… well, that and the fact that I failed my piloting classes but anyway, it would be extremely helpful for me to know my location. This is obviously Earth, but there are quite a lot of places on Earth I have and haven't been and it's quite hard to tell."

He stopped to breathe and Theresa seized her chance to speak, despite being slightly amused at his monologue. "Um, it's Friday. In… March. I _think_ it's the seventh. Oh, and it's 2008. And you're in America." She seemed unsure of the date and thought for a moment, as if counting something in her head. "Yeah, it's the seventh of March, 2008."

The Doctor digested this information, nodded. He had already been able to tell the country by her heavy American accent. "Where in America?"

"California. Southern California… in the San Diego area. Does that help?"

He nodded again, although less out of thanks and more out of contemplation for his luck; of course he was. Of all places to end up, he was in California. _Should have guessed it be someplace like this_. He'd had some bad experiences with LA, and the name of the state had unearthed a few uncomforting memories. Memories involving several bullet holes in his back.

He bought himself a moment's contemplation by walking away from the bookcase to peer out the window, pretending to observe the now nighttime sky. "It looks late," he observed. "Do you have work? A job, the like?"

"Yeah." Theresa jumped up out of her chair and walked to her small dining table. On it sat a folder that was apparently crammed with papers; she plucked it off the table and opened it. "I shoot photos for the local paper, and I have a side-job at the coffee-place down the street." She shrugged, handing the folder to the Doctor, who had gestured for it. "It isn't much, but it puts food in the pantry. Ramen, at least."

"And I s'pose that's the most important thing, eh?" The Doctor flashed a grin as he slipped his rectangular glasses onto his nose, rifled through the folder. It was a portfolio of sorts, loaded with various pictures; the contents ranged from photos of people to snapshots of events. One of them in particular caught his eye, and he stopped there.

"Where's this?" He tapped the photograph; it showed the outside of a large observatory at night, with hundreds of stars hanging over the mountains in the backdrop.

"That's the Observatory on Palomar Mountain – my latest excursion, actually. I partnered with a journalist that did a story on their latest discovery – I had more photos of it, but my boss used them. This is the only one he didn't take… He said it detracted from the purpose of the story." She shrugged again. "I took it on a whim, really."

The Doctor nodded absently, and found himself studying the stars in the background. "When was this?"

"Last week, I think. Why?" She grinned. "Been in the area lately?"

"Very funny," he said dryly, closing the portfolio and removing his glasses before stowing them in one of his many pockets. "Do you have work in the morning, then? You mentioned a side job…"

Theresa sighed, taking the folder and putting it back on the table. Her expression had transformed, and annoyance of some memory played across her owlish features. "Yeah."

The word simply furthered the obviousness of her change in attitude. The Doctor cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her tone. "Is that a bad thing?"

"My employer isn't the happiest person in the world." Theresa rolled her eyes. But something in her voice told the Doctor that she wasn't going to elaborate, if at least for the moment. He nodded in understanding and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, then. Should you be getting off to bed, then?" He nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom. "No doubt it's been a long day for you, and I know how humans get when lacking sleep." _Especially the females_, he added to himself. _Hormones in every direction_… _don't want to be on the receiving end of that again_.

Theresa gave him a slightly questioning look, and then rolled her shoulders. "It's not that late… but I didn't get much sleep last night, either." She turned and began moving towards the hallway. The Doctor heard her mutter something about it not making a difference, but he decided to reserve his questions for later. He walked after the young human, following her into the bedroom as he took in his surroundings yet again, if just to give his restless brain something else interesting to do.

* * *

Theresa suddenly recalled the existence of the "normal" part of her life as she headed towards her bedroom, and remembered what she had been doing prior to the Doctor's arrival. Washing dishes, mainly, but she still had that essay to write… She had to get up early the next morning to fill her shift at the Coffee Bean in the Plaza, and that meant leaving him alone in her apartment while he worked on his ship. She supposed that was okay… as long as he didn't blow up anything or end up bleeding on the floor again. She wasn't sure why, but he just seemed like someone who had a habit of getting into trouble… maybe it was his reckless attitude that did it. She couldn't tell.

She had a small amount of laundry to do, which meant she was going to need to scrounge around for some quarters to work the machines, and there were still some dishes in the sink. Theresa recalled the thought she had had about three hours or so ago, about how she her bike was due for maintenance… luckily, she had her own air pump for the wheels and bike repairs were cheap.

It suddenly dawned on Theresa, as she contemplated the simple events in her daily routine, how extremely different her life was now… in essence, it was still the same old average routine, but now… now she wouldn't be able to walk outside without looking up at the sky and thinking _'They really are out there.'_ Now she wouldn't be able to talk to David about the Doctor without either lying outright or sounding like a lunatic. Her perspective on "normal" had been drastically altered. And there was no changing any of that.

As Theresa entered her bedroom, she started slightly at the sight of the TARDIS in the corner of the room, up against the wall between her desk and the window – she'd almost completely forgotten about it. Again, with her altered perspective, she saw the ship differently – it wasn't just a weird blue police call box from the fifties, but nor was she suffering from culture shock because it was alien. It was simply… there. It was _his_ ship, bigger on the inside, and yet Theresa was perfectly fine with it. It just seemed… right. Like it belonged.

And it was the strangest revelation she'd had in a long time.

"Let's hope the manager doesn't decide to make a surprise inspection any time soon," Theresa said, flipping on the light to her room. The Time Lord behind her started towards the TARDIS as soon as she was out of the doorway.

"Surprise inspection? What is he, some kind of ex-officer? What is there to inspect?" He stopped at the blue door and looked around the room again; the Doctor cast a suspicious eye in her direction. "Is he Torchwood?"

Theresa blinked at him. "I dunno what Torchwood is, but _she_ is simply a greedy old woman that squeezes whatever money she can out of her residents." She rolled her eyes. "And the only reason she does the inspections is to make sure everything is in 'order'… at least, that's what _she_ says. I wouldn't mess with her, though. She won't take anything from anybody."

Theresa had seen the slightly smug look cross the Doctor's face for almost a half a second, and had added the last bit for that reason. Any trouble he caused the manager would mean trouble for her – _and_ a bill. All it took was an expression and Theresa knew he was a troublemaker – alien or not, it didn't matter.

But what was Torchwood?

* * *

The Doctor grinned wider before winking at her. "Oh, don't worry about me. I always get out of trouble – it's a skill."

_Note my choice of wording_, he thought with a quirky grin. _I may get into trouble, but it doesn't mean I don't get out. Happens all the time… I can't help it. Trouble and danger stick with me like paperclips on a magnet._

Theresa rolled her eyes at him, making him grin wider. "So I guess I should, um, go to bed… I s'pose the dishes in the sink can wait until tomorrow… Not that there's much left of them, anyway… Do I have clothes for tomorrow?" She turned suddenly, facing the sliding doors to her closet. She mumbled to herself a moment, saying something about laundry. She closed her closet again and turned back to face him.

"But what about you?" She asked. "I don't suppose your ship has a bed… or do you not sleep or something…? I mean, I'm no expert on aliens, so I've gotta ask these questions."

The Doctor winked again. "Completely understandable," he said. "But no need to worry – Time Lords don't need half as much sleep as humans, and the TARDIS is fully equipped to handle a couple hundred passengers at the very least. Bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchen, laundry room, observatory, infirmary – there's even a garden." He looked up to the ceiling, thoughtful. "I haven't been to the gardens in ages… been a bit busy lately. Also because the TARDIS keeps moving things around so I haven't a clue where anything is half the time. You can really only walk up to a random door and hope it's the right one – she likes to tease you at every chance she gets… I think she got that from me, although even for a ship she has a greatly adept sense of sarcasm. Must be because of how long I've had her… I can't be sure." He looked down again. "Anyway, off you go then. I should be gettin' to work on that wiring. Wouldn't want to mess with that manager of yours anytime soon, eh?"

Theresa blinked at him, probably trying to catch up with his speech, and eventually nodded her head. "Sure, sure," she said. "Do what you need. I won't get in your way."

And without another word, she picked up a bundle of clothes off her bed and left the room, sparing only a bit of a wave as she disappeared past the doorway. He saw the light flicker on from the hallway and heard the closing of what must have been a bathroom door.

The Doctor smiled after her, before turning and slipping through the door of his TARDIS. His work was waiting.

* * *

Phew! 'wipes forehead' that took a while. tell me what you think. seriously, i want to know what you want to see in my fillers. yeah, i'm not even close to the main conflict - that's set to happen AFTER the reunion; in fact, at the very start of it.

For example, the levels of DRose. You half to tell me how strong it should be... but don't get too demanding. I mean, it may be difficult to tell at times, but I'm only thirteen. Not exactly equipped (OR permitted) to do anything... extensive. (I mean, my 'beta' is, ahem, my mom)

all the same, tell me what you think. in a review, of course. hopefully i'll have written the entire eighth chapter on the plane to australia... XD


	8. The Beginning of the End

* * *

Okay, okay, look. I can explain. Put down your pitchforks and listen to me for a sec.

I've recently moved across the world from California, USA, to Brisbane Australia. A major leap, right? Right. It happens that our one computer is tempermental and, for the past three months or so, has either crashed, died, shut itself off, or simply rejected my pen drive. Then, a month ago, one of the hard drives failed.

I've had this chapter written out since the week I got here, to Australia. Just now I'm able to post it, so please, please cut me some slack. I just avoided death in my SOSE class for not wuite getting my powerpoint in on time because of computer porblems. So, now that that's out of the way, I can finally continue.

**Disclaimer; I do not own Doctor Who. However, I do own Theresa Schwartz, her boyfriend, and a hand-drawn poster with an innaccutate-but-still-totally-awesome drawing of the Doctor and Rose in rookie anime that I have for Art class. I've also rented out two books from the public library. I don't own them, tho. Pity. They were pretty good.**

Anyway. Here goes. And stop looking at me like that. It's unnerving.

p.s. The last I left you dangling, Theresa had left to the bathroom and the Doctor had headed into the TARDIS to resume his work. This picks up where I left off, not the next morning... ;)

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Theresa stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, noting how her emotions and the dark circles under her eyes contradicted each other. Sure, she was tired – Theresa was always physically exhausted at the end of the day – but her mind refused to calm. A relentless buzzing of questions reverberated through her head – questions about the Doctor, about their previous conversations; questions about what was to come, about how she would perceive her life now. It seemed her entire thought process had become devoted to the creation of questions.

Who did he lose? Why is he alone? What was going to happen over the next few days? What would he do while she was at work? Should she take off work and stay home? What about David? Was she supposed to make up a convincing story to cover up the truth?

Theresa sighed softly and doused her face with water; her body was already beginning to protest from the day's toils. She didn't own a car, and therefore rode her bike wherever she happened to go – which was normally to the University and her work, considering she had little time for much else.

But there was something about this man that triggered the nagging voice at the back of her mind. It was the vague sense of knowing, so rarely noticed, that warned you that something was coming. _Perhaps_, she thought reasonably, _it's just the shock catching up with me_. But no amount of self-assurance could fight off the nagging feeling of denial welling up inside her stomach.

_You're denying the fact you know something's going to happen_, she accused herself half-heartedly. There was hardly any use in lying to herself about her own feelings. She knew at least that much.

_But what if I'm wrong? What if I'm misinterpreting it?_ Theresa adjusted the fraying ties on her old pair of grey sweats, unconsciously fidgeting. She watched her expression change in the mirror as she thought this, observing her own unease.

Suddenly desperate to detach herself from her worries, the owlish brunette flipped off the bathroom light and retreated to the dark hallway, heading to her bedroom.

_The answers will come with time_, she assured herself. _They always do_.

**-The Next Morning-**

Well-rested was not the way Theresa expected to feel in the morning – especially on days she had to work. Today was no different... if anything, it was worse. She had spent seventy percent of the night restless, mind refusing to cease its motion. Actually, if she had slept at all, she would be surprised.

Theresa pulled the covers over her head, struggling to escape the sunlight streaming into the room as it slipped through the cracks in her blinds. Had her alarm gone off? She couldn't remember... the alarm on her phone should be going off by now... and she'd charged it yesterday, so it couldn't have been dead. _Best make sure..._



Stifling a groan, the young woman rolled out of bed – stopped to cast a glance at the giant blue box, almost to assure herself it was still there – and dug around in the pockets of yesterday's jeans, which had been lying on the floor. She located the old, scratched Razor and checked the time.

It was half-past seven. Her shift started in twenty minutes.

She swore.

Raking her fingers through her messy hair, she blinked and stared at the digital numbers, hoping she had simply imagined them. Of course, given her current run of luck, she hadn't.

Realising that she hadn't time for a shower, Theresa sped to the bathroom – swearing to herself the whole way – with fresh clothes in hand. As she closed the door and flipped on the light, something in her short-term memory flickered across her mind.

"_..I was trying to call you – about tomorrow, you know – but your phone isn't working. It keeps disconnecting me for some reason. Your house phone doesn't work either, and I got worried..."_ David had said that when he first came to the door yesterday. How had she missed that? Surely the thought had crossed her mind at one point or another...

The brunette set her bundle of clothing on the counter and inspected her phone. It seemed mostly okay; the icon for her alarm was still there, meaning it was activated, and the sound was up. And she distinctly remembered turning off the snooze button, too...

So what was wrong with it? No suitable answer offered itself, and she sighed. Theresa frowned at the device a moment longer, and then set it down on the counter. She would look at it later, when she had time.

Sighing again, she began to get ready for work.

**--x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x-x0x--**

About ten minutes later, Theresa was dressed, teeth had been brushed and her hair was decent, and now she was hurrying about the den, searching desperately for her house keys. Her expedition eventually led her back to her room, where she had located them (as well as a mysterious gum wrapper) in the back pocket of her jeans. She really needed to stop leaving things in her pockets.

Jingling keys in hand, Theresa headed for the hallway; but she hesitated at the doorway, turned to face the TARDIS, thinking. Should she leave a note? A post-it, maybe?

Nodding to herself, she approached her desk and plucked a black post-it from the sticky pad on its surface; she located a pen and scribbled a note.

_Gone to work – cell phone's screwed so no _

_use calling... stay out of trouble. _

_Will return at 4:30 or so_.

-TS

Mostly satisfied, she stuck it to the back of her bedroom door; Theresa flashed a glance again at the TARDIS, then backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Pulling her biking gloves onto her hands, Theresa hurried out the door, lugging her bike down the stairs to the sidewalk below. Heaving herself into the saddle, the brunette pushed off down the path, anything but ready to face the day that lay ahead. She disappeared past the buildings, just as the officer and David had done, heading towards her work.

* * *

It had been nine hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifty-five seconds since he'd started his work.

The Doctor had salvaged twelve sets of wiring and found replacements for several more; he'd recalibrated a few cylinders, repaired the joints and hinges of three levers, and had even tightened the bolts of the panels that sealed off a portion of the TARDIS' innards.

The Time Lord sat back in the captain's chair, suddenly feeling at a loss. Despite his long hours of endless toil, the damaged consol looked little different than its prior state. Or perhaps, he thought sullenly, the severity of the damaged hadn't made itself clear until now. Whatever the case, he had much more work than he'd planned.

Maybe his exaggeration from earlier had been closer to the truth than he thought – he'd told Theresa it would take him about a week; now he knew it would take more than twenty-four hours to repair the vitals alone, much less restore the systems. The TARDIS was still barely conscious; the consol glowed dimly and her normal lively hum had dulled to a low buzzing. The lights overhead had flickered twice in the past hour – not a reassuring sign in the least. It was also likely that she was low on fuel; the residual energy of the Rift and Time Vortex could only last for so long. He hadn't actually stopped in Cardiff since... well, since Martha.

The Doctor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the consol. Martha. She was another companion gone, another reason for him to leave the human race alone. He'd destroyed her life; nearly had her killed, endangered her family. He was like an illness, infecting everyone and anything he came in contact with. Loneliness was no excuse for dragging people into the dangers of his life; he didn't want to hurt anyone else. He had the TARDIS after all – loyal ship to the end, she was.

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. The Doctor could smell the metallic hints of oil on his hands; residue from beneath the TARDIS' grating. He traced the suspended cords with his eyes. They, too, looked like they'd taken a beating.

"What am I going to do with you, old girl?" He wondered aloud. "You're getting harder and harder to repair every week. Getting old, are we?"



A simple, yet somehow solemn whirr of confirmation came from somewhere in the controls; it was all she could manage in response.

"You and me both, old girl," he murmured.

The Doctor tapped his screwdriver against his leg; the only sound besides the weak thrum of the TARDIS. He felt an odd tugging feeling at the back of his mind, but it was brief, fleeting. Somehow it seemed urgent, but for the life of him he couldn't place it...

But too late did it click in his mind. The tugging had been the TARDIS herself – a warning of what was about to happen, too weak for him to have placed.

And the lights went out all around him.

The central column produced just enough light to illuminate the immediate area of the control consol, the rest of the TARDIS plunging into shadow. The Doctor had been swallowed up in a thick, impenitrable blackness.

The Time Lord jumped up from the Captain's chair, glasses already settled on the ridge of his nose. Locating the keypad, the Doctor pulled the monitor over; fingers flying as he pounded out the activation code for the backup generators... the generators that he had attempted to install but never quite fnished. But the monitor would barely stay online, flickering once, twice, then nothing.

Growling with frustration, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. The TARDIS was so weak she could barely support herself. There was nothing he could do for the old ship. It was dark; he couldn't see. The chances of finding a way to power her systems in the next twenty-four hours was only so good. And that was when a horrifying thought occured the distressed Time Lord. His hearts fell to his feet as the concept knawed at his insides; the Doctor gazed at the central column, and he could tell that she, herself, knew.

The TARDIS was dying.

* * *

Okay, people, tell the truth. How many of you had a hernia just then? Who had to be reincarnated?

I mean, come on. I had to pick myself up off the floor from just writing the darned line.

There is more to come, hopefully soon. Due to ungodly lack of homework, I'll have more time to write. Ninth chappie already under construction.

Please review! At least so I know people out there still know I'm alive and haven't abandoned them. Really. I was suffocating without being able to write... 'wheeze.' ;)

See ya!!


	9. Wonderings of a Wanderer

**Disclaimer: No. I don't want to be Russell T Davies, either. Have you seen him? The dude has, like, hygiene problems. And he's looks like a creep-o. A genius, but in need of a bath. Dirty genius. Ooh, that didn't sound right. ****O.o**

Okay, look. I'm sorry for the delay. I was being a bad girl for the past two weeks and writing the ending of this instalment instead of the ninth chapter. It was being purposely neglected... mainly because it's a bit sad (okay, more than a bit sad) and I can only do sad/angst according to my mood. My mood did not want sad this week. Which is why I was, ahem, writing the, ahem again, end. Anyway. I hope you haven't forgotten me!

(And to the people of my other fic, the MaxRide crossover, I'm working on that chapter too. Bear with me!!)

Onward! I use that word too much.

* * *

**Chapter Nine... Wonderings of a Wanderer**

He'd found the sticky note on the back of her door, warning him to stay out of trouble. Already he felt as if Theresa could understand him; she seemed to be able to see straight through his cheer and energy, down into the pain dwelling inside him; his eternal suffering. But right now, he had no cheer, no façade to mask his pain.

The Doctor had searched for the little glow of green light that saved him the last time she'd died, the last flicker of life that had been hidden in the dark confines of her innards. The memory of the parallel Universe simply sent him spiralling into his sorrows once more. But all his searching was in vain. There was nothing to be found.

His TARDIS was old, older than him by centuries. She was a patchwork of parts these days, a much loved quilt whose pieces were becoming harder and harder to replace. It was, he thought grimly, only a matter of time.

He sighed, gazing fondly at his old, blue ship. Time. It had been warping his life since the day he had stared into the depths of the Untempered Schism in Academy, so many centuries ago. Burden of the Time Lords; Curse of the Time Lords. His life was Time; it clung to the very lining of his soul; wrapped its strands around his body so it stained his very presence with its smell. It was eternally a part of him. Him, and the TARDIS.

Wandering into the den area, the Doctor noted the time displayed on the wall clock: 8:40. The note had said she would be back around four that evening; that meant seven hours and twenty minutes left. His mind analysed that small fact. He wondered why she would work for so long when it was only part-time.

Unless, he told himself logically, she was planning to do something after her shift ended. _It certainly makes sense,_ he concluded, staring absently out the window. Outside, an elderly man slowly strolled down the street, solitary and hunched; the Doctor wondered as he watched.

Would that be him, years from now? Hobbling down the street of a secluded town, alone and hunched with age? Always looking to the sky, hoping and wishing that one day he could return to the stars he called his home?

The Doctor suddenly found himself on the landing of Theresa's apartment, screwdriver whirring as he locked the door behind him; his thoughts wandered as he descended the stairs. He didn't know where he was going to go, but it didn't matter. He simply needed to be outside; to let the morning air clear his head and lift the heavy burden of confinement. And grief.

He had faced a situation like this twice before, losing the TARDIS; once as an accident, and once as a sacrifice. He had fallen through a wall separating parallel worlds and the TARDIS had died; but, unlike the past, he had looked three times over for that glowing spark that had been his saviour; it was nowhere to be found. The second time, he had sacrificed himself for the safety of a single woman, Madame du Pompadour, whose heart he had stolen more than a year before. But this time there was no fireplace to save him, to take him back.

This time fate had decided to intervene.

The TARDIS was dying.

As he made his way down the quiet street, the idea itself was like a sword being thrust into his back, passing through his hearts and out the front of his chest. There was no stopping it this time. There was nothing he could do. The TARDIS was old and her life was slipping away. The entire race of TARDIS, extinct for the rest of his existence. He would be confined to Earth, to life as a human. Always the odd man out, always alone. Now he would have no TARDIS to take away the feeling of not being able to belong. She was his home; she was all he had left of his home planet, of his past.

And now he would lose it all, everything but memories. Would the memories fade as well?

But in the darkness that clouded his mind, a small light of comfort penetrated the gloom. He still had friends, had connections to his past. Martha Jones was working for UNIT; even Jack, new head of Torchwood, was someone he could fall back on. If all else failed, he could - would - go to them. Even Theresa Schwartz, his new acquaintance, was fast becoming quite a good friend. Yes, he would at least have a place to fall back on, someone to go back to, when the time came.

The Doctor walked and walked, barely conscious of his surroundings. He crossed streets without noticing it, vaguely noting that the cars here drove on the right instead of the left. He wandered as his thoughts did, in control of his mind as much as he was the wind.

_Condemned to Earth, never to sail among the stars again. _

_Ever a stranger, different._

_Stuck in time, a timeless man_.

A sudden honk from one of the passing cars caught his attention, snapping him from his thoughts. He looked up, thoroughly seeing what was in front of him for the first time in nearly twenty minutes. The Doctor had reached a plaza of sorts, bustling with humans hurrying to and from grocery stores and shops. And on the corner across from him, with a worn bicycle chained out front, was a cafe called The Coffee Bean.

And behind the tinted windows of the shop was Theresa Schwartz.

* * *

Theresa leaned against the barista counter, eyes closed as her head pounded. An hour or so ago she'd contracted a massive headache, a horrid throbbing at the back of her head. It had lessened slightly, then had become almost unbearable a few minutes after. It was, in truth, the worst non-injury-induced migraine she'd ever had. And, on top of her headache, her sleepless night was beginning to catch up with her, dragging her down like bricks chained to her ankles.

The Coffee Bean was quiet; the morning rush normally occurred around eight-thirty, after the teenagers had stopped antagonising the people at Einstein's and Starbucks and a later, more mature crowd rolled in, consisting mainly of senior citizens and tired college students. They were the crowd that didn't want to bother with the all-powerful Starbucks that always seemed busy and crowded, no matter what time of day.

Theresa counted the lack of customers to her advantage, headache too strong to warrant any longing for noise. The company in the shop was a single, middle-aged man reading the morning paper and sipping a latte, and the young Asian that was currently in charge of the store room at the back. A jazz CD was playing quietly in the background. A baleful, soulful sound.

The brunette at the counter was, in her discomfort, the epitome of an employer's nightmare. Theresa's uniform was wrinkled from being shoved in her bike's saddle bag; her hat was on sideways and apron untied, dangling loosely from around her neck. But unless her employer randomly chose to stop by to check in on his two morning-employees, she could hardly care less what her uniform looked like. She just wanted her headache to go away.

With the jazz music numbing her brain, in addition to her exhaustion, Theresa began to doze off, leaning comfortably against the counter. The memory of the argument she had gotten into with her employer (christened 'the Grumpy One' and 'Mr. Go' by all his employees) found its way into her mind, and she relived the scene, remembering how it had almost ended up with her losing her job. She recalled having kicked around the idea of getting a new job and resigning from The Coffee Bean...

The tiny bell atop the café door jingled suddenly, and someone walked in. Theresa automatically leapt to attention, half-expecting the Grumpy One himself to stroll in with his usual 'I-hate-the-world' expression; the sudden movement sent her into a dizzying head-rush that, combined with her migraine, caused her to nearly fall over, After righting herself, Theresa leaned against the barista counter, clutching the edge for support until she regained balance. Her eyes widened slightly as the figure in the doorway finally registered in her brain.

"Doctor?" Indeed, the tall Time Lord had entered the shop, looking as eccentric and messy-haired as usual. "What are you doing here? I thought you were..." She flashed a glance at the man reading the paper. "Working."

"I decided to take a bit of a break," he replied quietly. That was when Theresa saw it, the darkness behind his eyes. He looked, for lack of a better word, gloomy. Her look of surprise transformed into an expression of concern.

"Did... did it not go well?" She'd lowered her voice, not only for privacy, but because her migraine was still throbbing in her head. The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, seeming to decide something. Eventually, he replied.

"No. Not really."

There was a pause; she leaned forward some. "Are you alright?"

He didn't reply, but he didn't need to. He knew she could see the answer in his eyes. She nodded, showing she understood. Theresa backed away from the counter and disappeared into the back room. Kim Wan, the other employee, was perched on a stool, reading a graphic novel for some kind of Manga. She whispered a few words to her, and then nodded her thanks before leaving the room.

* * *

The Doctor watched absently as the young brunette pulled her apron from around her neck and draped it over the counter. Theresa ushered him, silently, outside. He followed, vaguely noting that an Asian woman had come to take her place, reading a book as she settled at the counter.

The morning air was beginning to give way to the warmth of the sun, but the overcast sky refused to dissolve. Theresa took a seat at one of the patio tables; the Doctor did the same, watching her silently as she adjusted the chair. Once settled, she leaned forward and began to speak.

"Do want to talk?"

The Doctor observed her a moment, debating on his answer. She must have already expected him to talk – why else would she have come outside? And somehow, he didn't know why, it seemed she had a right to know what had happened. But before he decided to respond, she had begun talking again.

"Look, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said, her tone reasoning. "I won't bug you about it if you don't," she added, as if she needed to justify her statement. The Doctor couldn't help the flit of a smile that twitched on his mouth for half a second. She really could see right through him.

The Time Lord nodded, folding his hands in front of him and setting them on the table. Theresa hadn't broken eye contact yet, and gave no sign of doing so anytime soon; the intensity of her gaze made him feel as if every one of his emotions were exposed.

"When I arrived here," he began slowly, voice quiet as he delved into his memories, "it was by accident. I didn't know where or when I had gone – I picked something random to avoid the supernova in time. Incidentally, I ended up in your bedroom, unconscious. And, as you know, I found that much of the wiring had been damaged there afterward; I wasn't too sure of the cause of it. I had thought that perhaps the consol had suffered a blow, spewing sparks or the like, as it's done before.

"When I started working on them," he continued, "I kept finding other things that were damaged; the TARDIS wasn't functioning properly. You see, she may be a ship, but she is very alive. Made of organic material from my planet, Gallifrey. She has a heart, a mind – not quite capable of genuine thought processing, but very close. But my TARDIS wasn't acting the way it was supposed to. She'd been partially unconscious since yesterday..."

He trailed off for a moment, staring into space. If Theresa had picked up on his use of the past tense, she didn't show it; another decision had settled itself in his mind at that moment, and he'd paused.

"The TARDIS is very old," the Doctor said suddenly, though he still spoke slowly and quietly. "Much, much older than me. I've repaired her hundreds of times, maybe thousands; I've replaced parts, modified controls. But now... everything seems to be falling apart at the seams."

Theresa stared straight into his eyes, clouded and solemn; he knew well now that he could hide nothing when she saw into his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. He skipped back to what she had said a minute before.

"You see, Theresa," he said, "there's more to my story than I've told you."

He paused, collecting his scattered thoughts.

"Gallifrey is gone. My planet does not exist any more; it was destroyed in a war – the Time War. I am now the only Time Lord in existence. The rest of my race was destroyed along with my planet, years ago, and I'm what's left. One Time Lord, one TARDIS."

He'd stopped at that point, eyes having grown darker, clouding over. Theresa stared at him, not knowing what to say, or even what she was feeling. She hadn't expected something like that. She didn't even know what she _had _been expecting… Her emotions floundered, jumbled and almost numb. The concept began to sink in, and then she felt his pain.

The burden of realisation settled in her stomach, and she got the feeling that this part of his past was a crucial element to the reason behind the darkness hidden in his almost bottomless eyes. It was from the way he spoke that she knew it was part of what was bothering him. His outward emotions radiated the pain of a long-grieved loss, but this was old pain resurfacing. Whatever had been going through his mind earlier was separate from this loss; various pieces of a concept fit into place, creating a partially formed image in Theresa's mind…

But still. He was _alone?_ As in, _last-person-alive _alone?

"I'm sorry." Theresa spoke as soon as her tongue was coherent again. "That's… horrible. It's an understatement, but, wow."

The Doctor looked up at her a moment, eyes telling her to not be sorry; but his eyes dropped back to the table. Theresa ran his words through her mind again, trying to absorb the concept. _One Time Lord, one TARDIS._

_The TARDIS_, she thought._ He said that… ah._

She spoke suddenly, mouth moving almost before her mind finished processing the thought. "And… there's something's wrong with the TARDIS, isn't there?"

Again the Doctor looked slightly confused, almost surprised as he met her eyes. After a moment he nodded, the confusion fading. "Worse than I thought."

Theresa, on an impulse, rose from her chair. "I'll be… right back," she said. "Something tells me we're going to be a while." She touched him on the shoulder as she passed, disappearing into the shop. The Doctor twisted around to look after her, but the sun shining on the tinted windows allowed him nothing but his own reflection. He turned back, suddenly wondering to himself how she could possibly be so perceptive of him. Maybe she simply had an empathic nature… but maybe not. The feeling of curiosity tugging at his mind was enough to rejuvenate his diminishing levels of energy.

The sound of the bell of the door brought him from his thoughts. Theresa reappeared holding a small mug and one of the signature coffee cups that every American coffee shop seemed to have in stock. She set them down on the table and seated herself in her chair, pushing the mug closer to him.

"It's not the best stuff in the world," she said, sounding apologetic, "but it's the closest thing we have to whatever you made yesterday." Theresa shrugged and he inspected the contents of his cup, which was apparently some kind of herbal tea. "Thought you might want some… dunno what caffeine does to Time Lords but I figured it might perk you up… if it's drinkable, at least."

He smiled briefly, thanking her, and this time it touched his eyes. She returned it, settling herself into her seat.

"So… there's something wrong with the TARDIS," she surmised a second time, trying not to prod. He nodded.

"She was mostly unconscious since late yesterday," he said with a sigh, watching steam rise from his cup. "I thought it was due to her conserving her own power whilst I worked - her energy levels were getting low anyway, and I ignored it until just this morning."

He blew on his tea before continuing. Theresa's headache seemed to have lessened some, but she couldn't tell if it was because she was distracted or the fact she'd become used to the pain. She barely noticed the throbbing in her skull, but it was certainly there.

"I had been finishing up the wiring when I noticed it," the Doctor went on; Theresa noticed his speech had quickened, and he spoke a little faster than before; a sign he was beginning to relax. "The TARDIS had barely enough energy to support herself. The monitors were dead, the lights went out…"

He ran a hand through his hair.

"My TARDIS is dying, Theresa," he said, leaning forward. "She doesn't have much time left."

Theresa said nothing for a long time. The Doctor looked away, finally, and swirled the contents of his cup with his finger for a moment, ignoring the heat. She seemed to watch him for a minute, before finally breaking the silence. She leaned towards him, resting her hand on his.

"I'm sorry," she said again, voice quiet. He looked up to see real pain on her face, an exact mirror of the turmoil he'd felt earlier; it was a deep concern he hadn't expected. Theresa's eyes had changed, her normally black-brown irises turning a light, sandy colour. The Doctor stared at her, more in surprise of her eyes than her reaction to his news.

The Doctor moved his hand from beneath hers; he took it in his own. Confusion crossed her features for a split second, and her eyes returned to normal; he logged the reaction away for later examination, wondering briefly if she was aware they had changed tint.

"Are you all right?" She asked him again, brows furrowing.

"I'm always all right," he replied mildly. "Although _you _seem more upset than I am."

"Well, I'm surprised!" She looked indignant, if not defensive. "I mean, I just met you and it feels like I already _know _you, and the TARDIS is _dying _and that's just - it's just…" She couldn't finish, unable to find an adjective to end her sentence with. "What will you do?"

The Doctor observed her expression, wondering for a moment if he'd only imagined the change of colour in her eyes.

"I have friends I can go to… In London… I can go to London." His brows furrowed suddenly and he frowned., staring into space. "I don't have any money again. I should really start carrying around currency…" He dragged his hand down the side of his face, rubbing his jaw. "I would have to take a plane… I would use my psychic paper for a ticket and a passport, but I wouldn't pass airport security with a sonic screwdriver and whatever else in my pockets. Or I could sneak my way in. I do that all the time, anyway…"

He trailed off, realising he'd been talking to himself. Theresa was watching him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"But I have friends," he said, looking at her again. "I'll manage, do what I can."

Theresa just stared at him.

"You are a very strange person," she sighed. "That's saying a lot coming from me, but it's true. Strange in a good way, though. Not freakish-strange, just good-strange."

The Doctor grinned. "It's always good to hear that people don't think you're freakish-strange."

They drank their beverages in silence for a moment; Theresa finished off her latte and tossed the cup in the bin behind her. Suddenly, catching a glimpse of her bike her chained to the rack, something occurred to her.

"How did you know where I was?" She asked. "I didn't tell you where I worked, did I?"

"No, actually, it was an accident. I went for a walk and wandered over here. Happened to see you through the window."

"You seem to have a lot of 'accidents.' " Theresa watched him drain the last of his still-steaming tea, an eyebrow raised.

"Hmm. You have no idea." He set his mug down, wiping his mouth. "Needed sugar. A _lot _of sugar."

"I could have gotten you some," she told him with a smile. The young woman studied him for a moment, and the grin faded. "Are you sure you're all right? That's a lot to absorb. The TARDIS… dying, I mean."

The concept had sunk in a little deeper, and she stumbled over the phrase.

"I've had time to think it over," the Doctor replied, again sounding mild. "I've had trouble like this before. Twice, no, _three _times, I've faced living without the TARDIS. I left her behind to save someone, had her fall into the depths of a planet hovering outside a black hole; then she died because we landed in another Universe…"

Theresa couldn't help but ask the obvious question. "Well… how did you… revive her?"

"There was a remnant of energy left in one of the crystals," he said, only a moment behind as he roused from his memories. He answered her next question before the word formed on her tongue. "I looked. It isn't there."

Theresa closed her mouth, at a loss.

"So… who did you save? Was it your friend… the one you lost?"

The Doctor regarded her with a small smile, shaking his head. "It was Madame du Pompadour," he said. "She was about to have her brain cut out by a group of clockwork robots dressed as Frenchmen from Pre-Revolutionary France."

Theresa looked incredulous. "Madame du Pompadour?"

"Uncrowned queen of France," he confirmed, grinning.

"Clockwork robots?"

"Oh, yes. Beautiful design, too. Wonderful craftsmanship." He sighed, grinning at the memory. "It was a pity I had to shut them down. Clever creatures, if not a bit vain."

"You must have had a personal connection, then," Theresa commented. "Found someone you could relate to."

It took him a moment to realise what she was saying. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Does that mean you admit that I'm clever?" He asked her, flashing a suddenly cheeky smile. She sent him a look of controlled smugness.

"No. It means I think you have vanity problems."

The Doctor grinned and Theresa rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right?" She asked for the fourth time, although speaking more gentle than before. "And no, I'm not going to stop asking unless I get a straight answer."

"Do I look all right?" The Doctor was on the brink of annoyance, despite his grin.

Theresa heaved a sigh. "I honestly can't tell. That's why I'm asking. If I did know, I would ask you _what _was wrong, not _if _there was something wrong." She rolled her eyes at the fact she had to explain simple logic to someone who claimed to have a 'superior mind.'

The Doctor, however, didn't seem to be paying attention. His grin had faded and his eyes were fixed on something behind her, in the distance. Theresa twisted around, looking over her shoulder. She didn't see anything.

"What's wrong?" She asked, growing impatient at his evasiveness. He didn't answer immediately.

"I thought I saw…" He trailed off, brows furrowing. "No. I must have imagined it." he looked distant for a moment, and then turned back to look at Theresa. "What were you saying?"

Theresa propped her head up on her hand, leaning on the table; she sighed, giving him an ironic smile. "I don't think I remember now. Short term memory thing, you know." She waved her other hand dismissively, making him raise an eyebrow.

It was basically her way of saying, 'Sorry, but I'm not gonna repeat myself. Your loss.'

The Doctor seemed to pick up on the implications and shifted in his seat, pulling at his ear. There was silence as Theresa watched him, again trying to pick apart his expression to find an answer to her question. She still couldn't tell if he was 'okay' or not. She studied him as he fiddled with his little metallic device, which she recognised from the night before. She opened her mouth to ask what it was, but a shrill ringing cut her off. It was, strangely enough, coming from her pocket.

"Is that my phone?" Theresa pulled the razor from her pocket, frowning. "Weird. It wasn't working this morning…"

The Doctor watched as she stood up to take the call. He observed the human with curiosity, wondering who would call so early in the day - and on a weekend. A friend? Perhaps David Sanchez from the day before?

He lost himself in thought for a moment, Theresa's one-sided conversation vaguely registering in his mind. His mind wandered, running over the events of the morning and what he'd seen a minute before, in the distance. He was leaning heavily toward the possibility that his emotions were getting to him, but that was more out of denial of facts than anything else.

The Doctor stole another look across the street, but it was nowhere, not anywhere at all. He had to have imagined it; he _needed _to have imagined it. Something like that could not happen again; it meant trouble, and not your everyday saving-the-world kind of trouble. Uneasiness twisted in his stomach and pulled at his hearts.

Because for a split second, before Theresa's phone had rang, every sign across the street, every car's license plate, every word written in the shopping centre had been the same two words; the same two words he hadn't seen or heard for nearly three years.

_It can't be back_, he thought. _It's gone. She's in another Universe. They're both gone…_

But the images refused to fade. He knew what he saw, and what he had seen could not be ignored.

Bad Wolf had returned.

* * *

...

Oooooh-eeeeeeh-ooooooh!! Insert XFiles and Doctor Who theme music here. It was bound to happen, you know! Even without **WARNING SPOIER!! --** the falling-apart-of-the-Universes-thing!

And don't worry, people, cos I AM SO CLOSE TO THE MAIN PART OF THE FIC IT'S NOT FUNNY!! Only not funny because it's taken me 'goes back and counts' ten chapters to do it. Expect... at least two more chaps 'fore the REAL stuff starts. (An' you're goin' "the TARDIS is dying and you haven't gotten to the action?! What's wrong with you?!")

Truth is, dear readers, even my psychiatrist doesn't know what's wrong with me. O.o

Sighs. Review? 'Rattles coin in wooden cup, giving doe eyes to passers-by.' For a good cause! I want to know if you hate me yet...

'Rattle-rattle'...'Uses Doctor/puppy-dog eyes.'


	10. A Golden Sun

Hi! So sorry for the wait, I've been doin' a lot of situating and moving around and then I was being lazy and then I had very limited access to my laptop. Had to update my other fic (I promised!) Anyway.

A bit of a change in tenses for this chapter, I'm experimenting! Woo hoo! Won't be writing like this for a while after. A very short chapter on purpose – Oh, an' tell me your views on what you think is going on here. I'd love to hear what you think! Read on, Dots.

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: A Golden Sun**

She was running.

Around the corner. Down the steps. Across the hall. Through the aisle.

She was following; pursuing. Always just a flash, but very there, very close. _So close..._

Around the corner – a fork in the paths. Which way?_ I can be faster; I am faster._

She goes left. Her chest heaves, lungs working, heart pumping solidly. Adrenaline floods her system, courses through her veins like blood. _Fast, so fast._ But she could be faster. _So clever... _And this is but a game, a game she can't lose.

She weaves between the pillars, vaults over the railing of the staircase. The only sound is the thudding of her heart in her ears. _So swift, so silent._ But so is she. She races on, footsteps silent against the tile floors and rugs. She turns a corner. The end of the hall is close. There! She sees the flash, catches a glimpse. Her legs work harder, faster. She's close, so close.

The top of floor of the church is up the stairs. She runs, climbs the flights of steps. Her muscles are screaming from the exertion, breathing almost ragged. _Can't stop now – so close!_ She urges herself onward.

She reaches the top; heaving her body forward, she uses her momentum to conserve energy. She ploughs on. Her lungs burn, but she is too close to give up. Again! Just around the corner, just a few metres away... She smells fresh air, feels the cool breeze in the hall.

Around the corner – cool air brushes through her hair, fills her lungs. A balcony! It opens to face the street, cool London air washes across her face. And then she stops, abrupt. Her eyes are wide, chest heaving, muscles numb.

A smile, wide and familiar; a coat blowing in the breeze. An expression, both cunning and playful. A small slip of paper clutched delicately in one hand, the other outstretched for balance. The hand releases its hold and the paper flutters gently to the floor, brushed closer to her by the outside breeze. The evening sun filters in, casts shadows across the tile floor.

He stands on the stone railing of the balcony, tall and fearless and outlined in the gold of the sun. He is grinning, beautiful, dangerous, cunning, inhuman. The light wind rustles though his hair, toys with it, pulls at his clothes. Her eyes fall to the slip of paper slowing tumbling toward her with the breeze; she looks back up, meets his eyes. Only seconds have passed.

A fleeting thought and her hand goes to her belt, reaching for her holster. But too slowly; the smile broadens. He reaches a hand to his mouth, touches his fingers to his lips, turns his palm to face her. She aims her gun, armed with only a tranquiliser, not bullets. She is milliseconds from firing.

Suddenly the sun reflects off the building across the street; she is blinded for a single second, blinks against the light. Her shot is delayed by only half a second, she opens her eyes.



But he is gone. Vanished. She runs, sprints to the edge of the balcony. She leans over the railing, searching the street, the walls outside the building, even looks up to the stone spires reaching toward the sky. But he is nowhere. Gone. Vanished. She leans back, fills her lungs with the cool air and forces it out again, hard. The sun is sinking and the day is coming to a close. But she has no care for the time of day – he is gone. He had slipped through her fingers – she had been so close! It was the first time in months that she had been so close, and he had simply slipped away; she'd missed by mere milliseconds. He had vanished like a ghost.

She stands at the balcony for a moment longer, then turns. The paper he had held flutters aimlessly across the tile floor, brushed gently by the cool breeze. The sun dips lower in the sky, colouring the room a vivid orange. She bends and carefully pinches the small slip with her thumb and forefinger, lifts it from the floor. The cream-coloured paper is bathed in the orange sunlight; it smells of something thick and sweet, like flowers. On it are four, hand-written words, scripted in dark blue ink.

Her breath catches as she reads them. She looks to the gold outline of the church balcony, then down at the words, reading them over again.

_**I need the Wolf.**_

She folds the paper and slides it into the neck of her shirt.

Casting one last glance at the balcony, Rose Tyler turns and descends the stairs, heading for the main hall.

And she could have sworn her name had been whispered on the wind as she left.

* * *

So what do you think? Are any of you still out there? Hello? -voice echoes- -shifts uneasily-

Chapter eleven up soon? Hopefully.


	11. Last Chance Day

Ahhh. Finished at last. It's taken me so long to carve out this chapter (at first because of lack of inspiration, and then because we were travelling for a full week and I didn't have the time or resources to write.) But it's done! Finished! There is SO much going on in this chapter – much more speed than the majority of the fic so far. I'm dumping lots of stuff in your lap, so be warned. Nekst chap already in progress!

**Disclaimer**: I own two clones of the Doctor. Well, I've _adopted_ one, am living with two in all. Doctor Five wishes desperately to be adopted, people! But I don't own anything else. So sad. If I did, this would be series four and Donna would be spared.

_Previously: _

_... Because for a split second, before Theresa's phone had rang, every sign across the street, every car's license plate, every word written in the shopping centre had been the same two words; the same two words he hadn't seen or heard for nearly three years._

_It can't be back, he thought. It's gone. She's in another Universe. They're both gone…_

_But the images refused to fade. He knew what he saw, and what he had seen could not be ignored._

_Bad Wolf had returned._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: ****Last Chance Day**

She had turned away; the Doctor dragged a hand down the side of his face, looking over and over at the signs and license plates. But the words were gone, not a _Bad Wolf_ written anywhere in sight.

The Doctor felt his hearts beating hard in his chest. His emotions were muddled – more so than usual. He couldn't tell one emotion from another, much less which emotion was the most prominent. Anxiety? Confusion? Surprise? Downright bewilderment? It was a jumbled mess his mind simply couldn't sort out.

"Look, Chris, I've got to go. I'm at work." Theresa paced as she spoke, and then paused. "Yeah, sure, I'll call later... Okay... Cool, I'll make myself a note or something. Thanks. Talk to you later."

As Theresa turned back to face him, finishing her call, the Doctor did what he usually did with his emotions: he shoved them into a corner of his mind and ignored them.

She closed her phone and sighed, looking up from the ground. The Time Lord had composed himself, stared up at her with curious eyes, waiting patiently, and fiddled absently with his empty cup.

Wedging her phone into her jeans pocket, Theresa glanced at the shop window, trying to see inside. The tinted windows offered nothing but her reflection; she did a double-take. Her eyes went wide as she saw a squat, balding figure heading in her direction. The brunette spun on her heel, expression plainly announcing a stream of silent curses.

Her manager was striding purposely down the sidewalk, heading straight for her, his face arranged into a deep-set scowl. Theresa swallowed. The same curse word ran through her head like it had been stuck on repeat, or like a verse to a song being played on an old, scratched 45 record. In her peripheral vision, Theresa saw the Doctor straighten; she imagined him cocking an eyebrow at the sight of the enraged man coming towards her like a freight train at the end of a dark tunnel.

"Schwartz!" Her name echoed across the parking lot; Theresa winced visibly. "The last time I checked, I wasn't paying you to lounge around." Her manager halted about a metre away; the Doctor rose from his seat, standing next to the table.

"Mr. Stoggs." Theresa managed a weak smile, mind already inventing an escape. "I – I was just talking to my Professor," she gestured to the Doctor. "He came to see me about my essay."

The man continued to scowl. "I don't care what you were doing," he ground out. "I told you the last time I let you off, Miss Schwartz, that I would not give you any more warnings." Mr. Stoggs thrust a finger at her, completely ignoring the Doctor's existence.

"But I was only going to take a min—"

He cut into her meagre protest. "No. I've had enough, Schwartz. You've been late three times in the past two weeks, your uniform is a disgrace, your hat's on sideways, and now you're neglecting your duties." His scowl deepened and Theresa just stared. Stoggs thrust his finger at her again. "This is it, Schwartz. I'm putting you on probation for a _minimum_ two weeks, with no pay. You obviously need time to get your act together." Almost in an afterthought to himself, Mr. Stoggs looked heavenward. "I should fire you." He shook his head as if questioning his own sanity. "But, the customers love you, that much has been obvious over the past year." Then his expression darkened visibly.

He took a step closer. "But if you aren't in _perfect shape_ –" Theresa saw spit fly from his mouth as he spoke – "when you get back, I will not hesitate to fire you on the spot. Do you understand? I want you in top performance, not a hair out of place." Again the spit flew.

Stoggs paused. Theresa was frozen, but she could feel the dark stare of the Doctor behind her.

"One more thing, Schwartz. Try to remember that this is a _professional_ business, and as such I expect you to socialise with your …" Stoggs sneered at the Doctor, acknowledging his presence for the first time, "…_colleagues_ elsewhere."

And with another glare at Theresa, Mr. Stoggs stormed into the shop. Theresa stood, staring into the distance with an expression that proclaimed raw bewilderment. The Doctor moved to stand in front of her, studying her and waiting for a reaction. A moment later, Theresa finally met his gaze.

"I think that went well," he said flippantly. The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her as she moved calmly to the bike rack and started to unchain her old bike.

"Yeah," she wheeled her bike out onto the sidewalk. "It could have been a lot worse, I guess."

The Doctor only grinned and shook his head as they started back down the street towards Theresa's apartment.

* * *

It took them less than thirty minutes to get back to Theresa's apartment. The Doctor had filled the silence with constant rambling, talking almost non-stop the entire time. Theresa didn't mind – she found herself enjoying his company. Other than David, she never really had the time to talk to anyone outside her Uni friends. The fact that the Doctor was alien only made his monologue all the more interesting.

By the time they had arrived, Theresa had already pushed the sting of her new probation sentence from her mind. Her mood had lightened considerably and she was much more relaxed. Theresa announced that she had decided to work on her essay, even though the due-date had been moved back – which, she told the Doctor, was what her classmate had called to tell her when Stoggs had shown up.

The Doctor had nodded and retreated to the TARDIS – what he was going to do there, Theresa didn't know. She now sat at the dining table in her living room; her laptop sat in front her, research papers and notes splayed out all around her, a ballpoint pen hanging from her mouth. She had been working on her essay for nearly two hours, iTunes blaring and fingers pounding on the keyboard.

Theresa had thrown herself into her work for more than one reason. She not only wanted to get ahead – she'd been behind on assignments too many times to pass up the opportunity – but working took her mind off the frustration of the day. She had tried to ring up David about twenty minutes earlier, but had discovered her phone was useless again; she worried about her work situation. Proving herself to her impossible employer – more colourful descriptions came into Theresa's mind – would be difficult at the best of times; and now there was the threat of severe financial difficulty. She also hadn't noticed her headache was gone until it came back again.

So she worked, crowding her mind with theories and explanations and definitions. Theresa blamed her sudden inspiration for her essay on the Doctor – coincidentally, she was studying astronomy and astrophysics; the perfect example of how much her perspective on life had changed in the past twenty-four hours. Theresa knew, with almost solemn realisation, that her life would never be the same again. Sure, she might work the same jobs and go to the same school, buy groceries in the same stores and live life like every other person on the planet, but it would be _different_. It would always be different.

"How's the work coming?"

The Doctor's voice broke through her multitasking thoughts; she looked up, swivelling around to face him. The alien was leaning against the doorjamb, hands thrust into the pockets of his impossibly snug-fitting suit.

"Faster than I thought it would," she told him truthfully. "What's up?"

She almost put 'Doc' on the end of that last sentence but resisted the urge, briefly wondering if he'd been exposed to the wondrous world of Bugs Bunny. Although, for an alien, he seemed to be very knowledgeable about most of what happened on Earth – probably more than most humans. Theresa tried to suppress a grin.

"Oh, nothing much really," he waved a hand dismissively. "Figured I'd come and check on you."

Theresa cocked a doubtful eyebrow at the faint hitch in his tone. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

"Oh, fine." He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "So I heard the music and got curious. Happy?"

She just rolled her eyes at him and his grin broadened; he pushed away from the wall and came to peer over her shoulder. He slid black-framed glasses onto his nose.

"Ooh, astrophysics. A bit basic, but not too bad for a human," he mused. Theresa sat back in her chair and watched him read. He scrolled up and down the screen, scanning.

"It's just a rough draft," she told him suddenly, spotting a mistake as he paused to read over a paragraph. He made a face that typically meant that it made no difference to him.

"Not too bad," he said finally. "Again, for a human. The theory you explain in this paragraph is slightly incorrect, but that's not your fault – Bernardo Deani discovers the fault in around 2018, so best leave it the way it is. Timelines and all that."

Theresa only rolled her eyes. Time traveller. Right.

He leaned away just as another random song began to play; her iTunes had been set on shuffle, but the brunette easily recognised the artist. And by the look on the Doctor's face, he did too. A huge grin appeared on his lips and he was suddenly bouncing lightly on his toes, hands still in his trouser pockets. Theresa raised her eyebrows as he began to sing along to the song that had come on, voice slightly off key but accent flawlessly Scottish.

"_When I wake up," _he sang,_ "well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man that wakes up next to you_" He swayed from side to side, head leaning back and eyes closed. "_When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man you goes along with you._"

The Doctor winked at Theresa's amused expression and grinned wider as he continued.

"_If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man that gets drunk next to you; And if I haver, yeah I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's haverin' to you._"

Leaping forward, the Doctor took hold of Theresa's arm and pulled her from her chair, jumping into the chorus and urging Theresa to go along. Theresa laughed, collapsing into giggles as he started twirling her around.

"_But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door_." Theresa sobered enough to stop laughing and joined in with the next verse.

"_When I'm walkin', well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's walking hard for you_." The Doctor grinned broader as she went along with his dancing and twirling with the music. "_And when the money, comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you._"

They twirled and spun, falling into some kind of sloppy tango. They sang and laughed, and in only moments Theresa's mood had lightened immensely. Almost too soon the song came to an end, and on the final note, Theresa spun away and plopped down onto her small sofa. Her heart raced with adrenaline and her face was flushed pink from laughing.

She ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it and attempting to sober. The Doctor dropped down next to her, stretching his long legs out with a big grin on his face, hands behind his head. The song changed again, but it was something quieter this time. The brunette leaned back, smiling and still unable to resist the occasional giggle. It was like she'd gotten high on the energy flowing around the room.

There was a pounding at the door. Theresa jumped, heart sputtering in surprise. The Doctor's head snapped up, an eyebrow raised high.

"You seem to be very popular among visitors," he commented cheekily. Theresa leapt up and scrambled to the door, heart racing slightly faster than it had been before. She had a feeling she knew who it was; only seconds later the door was wide open.

And standing on the porch was David, looking almost anxious. Theresa's eyes widened for a brief second; she'd been right.

"David!" The word was an exhaled breath. He seemed slightly taken aback by her appearance, flushed face and ruffled hair. And then he saw the Doctor, who looked equally dishevelled.

Theresa had never seen David's eyes so dark.

She could feel his annoyance turn to anger, emotion radiating off him in waves. His normally light eyes had turned a cold, slate grey; they flicked from Theresa to the Doctor and back again. Hands clenched to fists. Theresa's face, the Doctor's missing grin, Theresa's panic, the Doctor looking down his nose and his hands in his pockets, iTunes music still playing loudly. And Theresa knew exactly what David was thinking, what the scene before him looked like through his stormy eyes.

"Just a friend?" he asked in a low voice, locking her in his gaze; he quoted what the Doctor had said the day before. "Just an 'old friend.' How old, Theresa? Just how long have you been with him?"

His voice had risen, but Theresa said nothing. She couldn't lie to him, but the truth was worse than silence. She stared at him, standing in the full force of his growing anger.

"I came here to apologise for yesterday because I thought you told me the truth. I was going to tell you I was sorry. You know, I keep trying to phone you. I wondered what was wrong with your phone. But then I see _this_ – you and some guy that doesn't even have a real name! I get it now that you're avoiding me. I _trusted_ you, Theresa. And you've _lied_ to me."

His words cut deep, but she stood and took it all without a sound. Lying by omission of facts was truly her guilt. Theresa could feel the blood draining from her face, lips drawn into a thin line, as she remained prisoner to David's gaze.

"What's happened to you? He demanded. "What is it that you need, Theresa? Because if you could explain to me what's going on with you right now, I would really appreciate it."

Theresa's mouth opened and closed but no sound came. Misinterpreting her inability to speak, David finally looked away, grabbing at his sand-coloured hair, inhaling and exhaling sharply; a weak attempt at venting his anger. Theresa felt light-headed from being released from his gaze so suddenly. She could feel the Doctor's almost reserved emotions from across the room; the feeling contrasted glaringly to David's slowly cooling rage. David was like a kettle of boiling water that had just been taken off the stove.

"You know what?" He went on suddenly, turning back to her but unable to meet her gaze. "You know what? I'm going. If you don't want to see me anymore, fine. Whatever. I don't care. Things have changed. _You've_ changed. _I'm_ your boyfriend, yet I'm standing outside your door while _he_ is inside where I should be." David began backing away; stepping towards the stairs, face hard as stone. "Just call me when you feel like having me in your life again."

And then he was gone, walking swiftly down the stairs and storming down the sidewalk, out of sight. Theresa stood at the door, unmoving. She waited until his footsteps could no longer be heard before slowly closing her apartment door and locking it. She leaned her back against it; let herself slide slowly to the floor, staring into empty space. Her body was flushed with cold and goose bumps prickled on her arms and neck.

The Doctor hesitated a moment before making his way across the room. He squatted down in front of her, trying to meet her glassy-eyed gaze. She stared into space for a moment, looked up at him. The Doctor set a comforting hand on her shoulder, his eyes clouded with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I am so, very sorry. This is completely my fault. If I--"

"No, it's just – I need..." She inhaled deeply, mind forming only broken sentences. "I need... could you... a moment?"

The Doctor looked solemn as he nodded his consent.

"I'll be in the TARDIS if you want to talk," he said. The Doctor left the room, leaving Theresa with her thoughts.

Theresa's mind was numb. She didn't know what to think, other than the fact that she had pretty much lost her job and her boyfriend in the same three hours. David's words had hurt, but she couldn't have said anything. She couldn't lie, not to him, but the truth would have made everything so much worse. He wouldn't believe a lie, but she knew he couldn't believe the truth, either. It was too much; she was in too deep. She wondered how she would ever make it up to him.

Her mind seemed to finally come into focus. She would survive this – she always survived. This would be no different from any other obstacle she'd ever tripped over. But the worst thing about it all was that the Doctor was blaming himself. Theresa lifted her head up, having been staring at the floor, slumped against her door. She couldn't let him blame himself – no matter what he thought, if wasn't his fault. This was fate. _This_ was why she was feeling so edgy the night before. This had been _meant_ to happen. It had been unavoidable. It had happened for a reason, whatever reason that happened to be.

Letting her guilt and pain slip away, Theresa rose to her feet, feeling surprisingly sturdy and solid. She became aware of her surroundings again – iTunes was still playing on her computer. She walked over to turn it off, paused when she realised what song was playing; _Last Chance_ by Jet. It was certainly fitting.

Theresa turned off the music and walked to the TARDIS.

* * *

The TARDIS was dark. Theresa slipped through the door, leaving it cracked open to let in some light; the consol room was cloaked in shadows and darkness. The glow of the central column was so faint she could barely tell it was there. Seeing the ship – living or not – in such a state was depressing; Theresa had already found herself quite fond of the TARDIS, as strange as that sounded. She wedged her hands into her pockets, brows furrowing slightly as she watched her breath curl through the air like fog or smoke. Why was it so cold? She peered around the room. It was empty.

Theresa circled around the consol once, half-expecting to see the Doctor lying beneath it, but he wasn't there. Frowning now, she looked towards the maze of hallways leading deeper into the TARDIS. Hadn't he said there was a kitchen on board? Maybe he'd gone to make himself tea or something. That, at least, seemed like something he would do.

She eyed the hallways for a moment, deciding which one to go down. Something told her getting lost would be very easy if she wasn't careful. Making up her mind, she went down the hallway on the right.

Her shoes clinked on the grated floors as she walked, giving the already dark scene an eerie feel. She noticed as she walked that the hallway was set at a downward slant, leading her down, probably beneath the consol room. She also noticed that the farther she walked, it seemed, the warmer it got. Deciding the Doctor would be where the heat was; Theresa quickened her step and followed the growing warmth.

She walked for a solid two minutes before coming upon a door that was slightly ajar with dim light filtering through the crack, bleeding out into the hallway. Relief washed over her, but she wondered what the Doctor was doing so far from the consol room. Theresa pushed open the door and slipped in, taking in the details of the room. But her eyes widened when she saw where she was.

The room looked as if it hadn't been visited in years, ancient and old fashioned. Stone pillars stretched high to the ceiling and intricate carvings laced the walls. Old fashioned, frosted glass windows had been built into the walls and shafts of light streamed down from holes in the ceiling, highlighting the particles of dust floating around the room.

Theresa stepped forward, eyes wide with wonder. The very back of the room had a staircase that split apart, both flights led to identical arched entryways at either side of the wall. A large, intricately sculpted window sat above the middle landing of the staircase; a circular disk had been set into the top of the window, made of some kind of dark metal. An emblem had been carved onto the surface of the disk; it was similar to the symbol for infinity, carefully sculpted and elegant. Torches – real, honest-to-gosh flame torches – were set up all around the staircase, offering their own flickering light. She briefly wondered what could have been the source of the light streaming down from the ceiling and pouring through the frosty glass windows.

The brunette frowned a little. As dim and musty as it was, the room was bright and lively compared to the rest of the TARDIS. Theresa could feel the energy floating through the room, heard a weak hum reverberating from the walls – weak, but very _there_, very _real_. It was if this place had not yet begun to die with the rest of the TARDIS. Theresa tucked her observations away for later examination, and continued her investigation of the room.

A raised, illuminated ramp similar to the one in the consol room led to the centre of the room, where a strange platform sat. The platform had tall, thin spires that extended upward on each of its four corners. Theresa slowly made her way up the ramp, arms folded across her chest.

No, the Doctor certainly wasn't in this room, but whatever she had stumbled upon was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The atmosphere in the strange room was slightly eerie, quiet. It was obvious the room hadn't been disturbed in a very long time. Theresa wondered if the Doctor even knew it existed. It was certainly a possibility – who knew how many rooms the TARDIS had?

Approaching the strange, spired platform, Theresa realised it was designed a lot like an altar. The edges of the altar sloped down towards the centre, where a large, dome-looking thing sat, no taller than the edges of the platform itself. The dome was covered completely by interlocking carvings and designs Theresa couldn't even begin to recognise. Many of them seemed to be arranged like words, but the alphabet was nothing but meaningless markings and squiggles to her.

A thick layer of dust rested on the altar, settled in the nooks of the carvings. Theresa reached out, ran her finger over the surface of the dome, leaving a trail in the dust. The surface of the dome was warm, warmer than the rest of the room. The tip of her finger tingled where she'd touched the carvings; the strange feeling lingered a moment, then dissipated. Theresa's brow furrowed, curiosity sparking. She stared down at the peculiar platform, eyes tracing the patterned surface of the dome. _What could this thing possibly be?_

Lifting her eyes, she slowly moved away from the platform. Her gaze roamed around the room again, settled on the large window between the stairs. Theresa approached them, stepping down off the raised ramp and staring up at the dusty window. Light spilled from the glass panes, but the window had been designed in such a way that it was impossible to see through; Theresa tried to imagine what could possibly be on the other side – if there was even anything behind it at all.

Theresa wandered for another few minutes, taking in as much as she could. She inspected carvings, gazed at the shafts of light from the ceiling, watched the torches burn like they would never stop. Eventually she came full circle and returned to the domed platform.

Staring down at it again, Theresa's brows furrowed. For the life of her she simply could not figure out what the dome was. It was obviously something alien, but what was its _purpose_? It seemed significant somehow, and her curiosity was beginning to gnaw at her insides, lingering at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch. She reached out to it again, this time leaning over the edge so she could reach farther. She laid her hand against the centre of the dome, palm flat against the surface. It seemed warmer than before.

On an impulse, she leaned down, peered closely at the centre of the dome. She could scarcely make out the pattern of the carvings that came together at the centre point, forming a shape not dissimilar to an eye…

The temperature of the dome increased suddenly, spread heat up her arm and all the way to her shoulder. Theresa gasped; the heat flushed her entire body, numbing it. She couldn't move, her body paralysed by the warmth. Her eyes fell closed as more heat crept up her neck and smothered her head. Bright, white light exploded behind her eyes.

She screamed as her mind was enveloped in fire and light.

* * *

So there you have it, readers. Chapter Eleven. The room described here, as some of you older Whovians might know, is from the original series, not something I made up. I used a screen-shot for the description, and personally I think I did a fair job in doing so. I won't tell you what it's called or what it is - that would give it away! XD Oh, and I'm not apologising for the cliffie. Never will. –grins evilly– (Even ask Doctor Two. He'll say the same.) Reviews? I don't feel like begging or persuading people for them today, but they always brighten my day. :) I also don't own the lyrics to the song - the Proclaimers have full ownership, not me.

-Dots


	12. Phantom's Game

Okay, this was _not _supposed to be the next chapter. This is a lot like chapter ten – completely spontaneous, bordering random, but it had to be done. It _needed_ to be done. I started writing it and realised that I should have had this chapter in mind in the first place. It's a good thing I thought of it, really. I would have had too much background to cram in to later chapters if I hadn't written this. (BTW... nekst chap already finished!) Anyway, onward; before I give too much away!

**Disclaimer: I only own Theresa, some Converse, all the other OC characters in this fic, and, to an extent, **_**him**_**. By the end of this, you'll prob'ly have guessed what I mean by 'him.' Lyrics belong to Evanescence. Don't own anythin' else.**

* * *

_Long lost words whisper slowly to me  
Still can't find what keeps me here  
When all this time I've been so hollow inside  
I know you're still there_

_Watching me, wanting me  
I can feel you pull me down  
Fearing you, loving you  
I won't let you pull me down_

-Haunted, Evanescence

* * *

**Chapter Twelve;** **Phantom's Game**

The surface of the water rippled, teased by a small breeze. Leaves drifted in the makeshift current, floating calmly and delicately; they hardly disrupted the surface of the water as they meandered by.

Rose stared down at her reflection. The gentle ripples distorted her appearance, stretching and condensing her reflected image. She observed the distant, far-away look in the eyes of her reflection, remembered the words he'd spoken to her that day.

She'd only spoken to him twice – rather, she'd only heard him speak twice. Both meetings had lasted only seconds, moments. Neither time had she possessed the chance or tongue to say a single word; he always disappeared like a ghost, a phantom. It was like he didn't exist, only a figment of her imagination. But there was proof each time that he was real.

Rose had been walking. Not headed anywhere in particular – simply walking. It had become a habit of hers, the only way she felt she could escape the cramped box that was the Tyler Mansion. Even in the vast, open rooms of the house, Rose found herself feeling closed in; it was like there wasn't enough air, not enough space for her to breathe, much less think. Eventually, after months of dealing with the strange claustrophobia, Rose had started walking. Walking seemed to appease her craving for open space, allowing her mind freedom from whatever atmosphere thickened the air of her own home.

It had been evening, she remembered. The air had been chilly, temperature dropping in time with the sun. Her mind had been wandering, roaming through memories and thoughts as it usually did.

And then she'd seen him.

* * *

_Five Months Prior..._

He is standing about thirty feet away, leaning against the brick wall of an old building. His mouth is turned up into a small smile, eyes trained on her. She becomes locked in his gaze, mind faltering at the sight of him. At first she thinks her imagination has gotten the best of her, fuelled by vivid memories, but his smile grows when she meets his eye. She realises that this is no hallucination.

Her heart sputters, but then speeds up, pulse quickening. Her breath catches in her throat and she becomes immobilised; but then her legs are moving again and she is walking towards him, closing the gap between them. She stops but a few feet away, mind numb. The world becomes silent, as if she has stepped through a barrier that blocks all outside sound from her ears.

He smiles wider, but does not move; his hands are in his pockets and he stays leaning against the wall. She stares up at him, thoughts hazy, almost confused. She wants to reach out, to touch him, to make sure he is real, but her body does not respond to her brain. Instead she is locked in his gaze.

She says his name. It is hardly more than a breath, nearly lost to the chilly wind. His smile widens even more and he stands away from the wall; removes his hands from his pockets and leans over so his mouth is at her ear.

"Look deeper," he whispers; his breath teases her hair and brushes against her ear. She cannot move, but can feel his hands, solid and real, take one of her own. He leans back enough to look at her; his eyes meet hers for a single heartbeat. Her eyelids flutter closed as he presses a drawn-out but feather-light kiss to her lips.

He pulls away, releases her hand; her mind is hazy for a moment. She opens her eyes again, but finds herself staring into empty space.

He is gone.

Finally able to move, she looks all around her, but he is nowhere. Vanished, not even the flap of a coat to show he'd ever been there in the first place. Lifting a hand to her mouth, the feel of his touch lingers on her skin. She can still feel the air-soft brush of his mouth against her own, the solidness of his hands enclosing hers. But whether this is proof of his existence or hallucination, she does not know.

As she becomes fully aware of her surroundings again, she feels something pressing against the palm of her hand – the hand he had been holding. Looking down, she uncurls her fingers, revealing a small, folded slip of paper. A slip of paper he had left in her hand. A slip of paper that proves he was real.

She turns it over in her hands, unfolds the tiny parchment with delicate fingers. Inside she finds a single, handwritten sentence. She memorises it, reading it over and over; her eyes trace the curvy, slanted letters.

_**Pools of glass and groves of stone – deep inside I wait alone.**_

She closes her fingers around the paper and turns toward the Tyler Mansion. The sun has already dipped below the horizon.

* * *

_Present_

Rose swirled her fingers in the cool water, disturbing the smooth, glassy surface. The memory was still fresh in her mind, vivid and clear. She still had the slip of paper – stowed away in the wooden jewellery box on her office desk, along with all the other notes he'd left. There were five in all, each serving as a clue that always led her to him.

It had been obvious to her after the first few weeks that this was a nothing but a game. Each time she found him, each time he slipped away. If it hadn't been for the notes, she would be convinced he was nothing but a ghost of her memories; her own personal phantom. Even then, she wasn't entirely sure he was real.

She was now sitting in the exact spot where she had found him after solving his first riddle.

Rose had spent two weeks attempting to calm her mind over what had happened that day. The fist week, she spent most of her time trying to forget the incident, hiding away the little slip of paper and ignoring the steady stream of 'what-ifs' being produced at the back of her mind. _What if he really had been real? What if he was back? _Her mind would flitter back to the two words he whispered in her ear – _"Look deeper." _But she had fought herself every moment of the day, losing herself in Torchwood paperwork to keep her mind busy. It was like she had been afraid to hope, afraid that she would only end up disappointed.

But by the end of the first week, Rose had started going mad; she hadn't been able to withstand the nagging in her mind any longer – so she gave in. She dug out the piece of parchment-like-paper and set to work, trying desperately to figure out what the riddle possibly could mean.

In the end, her weeklong search came to a halt when she discovered the Cardiff Reflecting Gardens. The Gardens harboured a collection of round, stone pools surrounded by towering, maze-like hedges and stone overhangs that created shady, covered areas to sit beneath. There were bunches upon bunches of flowers bordering the pathways, and vines clung to the stone pillars like hundreds of narrow fingers. The very centre of the Gardens was the location of the pools themselves, and they sat in a clearing of sorts, bordered by the tall hedges and forests of colourful plants and flowers.

Rose had headed to the Gardens immediately, pushing the feeling of nervousness and unease from her mind. She hadn't known if he would even be there – again, if he was even real at all – but she had supposed that if he would be anywhere, it would be at the Gardens. After all, it had been the only thing that had matched his description, and she had thought it was best to give it a go.

By the time Rose had come upon the reflection pools, her confidence had increased considerably. She hadn't even bothered looking around when she arrived – somehow she'd known that she wasn't meant to find him – he would be the one finding her.

And he did come to her. She had been sitting on the edge of one of the stone pools, staring down into the water; his reflection appeared beside hers. She remembered that he had been wearing the same blue suit as the first time she'd seen him, but instead of a tan coat, he'd worn a dark one that she'd never seen before; it fluttered and flapped in the ever-existent breeze. Rose had stood and faced him.

She remembered standing very still – not because she couldn't move, but because she didn't trust herself of her own reaction. Rose still hadn't been sure if he was real – even after all her consideration, her mind had still harboured doubt. So she had stood there, stiff and unmoving.

He'd stared down at her with his familiar brown eyes, but Rose remembered catching glimpse of something... _wrong_ in his expression. Something she still couldn't place, even now. He'd greeted her, voice low. She had barely been able to speak, managing a soft "hello" in response.

Rose could recall almost every second of their encounter.

* * *

"I see you deciphered the riddle."

No answer. He gestures all around him, grinning.

"What do you think? I supposed it would be a… calm setting for us to meet."

She finally works up the tongue to reply, but her voice is still soft as she stares up into his eyes. "It is quiet," she says, hesitates before continuing. "Why – why did you want me to come?"

"To see you, of course." He speaks as if she's just asked him if the sky was blue, still grinning. Rose doesn't know what to make of his reply, staring up at him with almost no expression.

"Don't you see?" He goes on, smile fading only slightly. "I came for you." He takes both her hands, leans down to be to her eye level. Rose looks down at her hands in his, trying to convince herself that his touch is real, that he's real, that she isn't being consumed by her own imagination. He seems to misread her actions and gently releases her hands, sliding his own into his pockets. She almost objects, but no sound comes out of her mouth.

"Unless, of course, you don't want to see me." His brows furrow a little, a familiar expression that briefly causes her stomach to flutter. She wants to say that of course she wants to see him, but her mouth falters again. Instead she can only manage a short objection.

"No, it's just…" _Just what?_ She thinks.

After a short silence; he straightens and takes a small step back, eyes taking on a sad glimmer.

"It's all right," he says; Rose realises he is backing away. "I understand."

He flashes an almost mischievous smile, and before she can react he is striding away, heading toward the labyrinth of trees and plants. Rose's breath catches in her throat as her mind catches up with her body. She finds herself running after him, trying to call out, but her mouth doesn't connect to her brain. He's already disappeared into the maze of hedges, coat flapping out of sight; Rose rounds the edge of a tall bush to see him already at the end of the passageway. He flashes a grin over his shoulder, catches her eye for a split second.

She swears he starts walking faster.

Almost frantic now, she hurries down the pathway and turning the corner; she's just in time to see him turn left at the fork in the path, catching glimpse of his long dark coat flapping around the corner. She doesn't want to lose sight of him, doesn't want him to disappear; her conscience is striving to maintain every shred of proof he exists, and she can't bear the thought of him vanishing again, even if he was only imaginary.

Suddenly he's standing at the end of the next pathway, grinning broadly at her. She stops, breathing harder than normal; but his grin grows wider, and he trots around the bend again, disappearing behind the tall, wall-like hedges.

And Rose finally realises what he's doing.

He's toying with her. He's leading her _somewhere_.

She's running even faster now, but somehow he manages to always be just a flash around the corner, a glimpse at the end of the maze-like pathways. But suddenly she stops again, skidding to a halt. The path has split in three directions, and she hadn't seen which way he'd gone. She stands there, studying the split, trying to determine which way he might have gone; there was no pattern to his path, she already knew that much.

Rose takes a tentative step towards the split, moving slightly towards the path leading left. Maybe he'd gone left.

A twig snaps softly from somewhere behind her; her spine prickles. She can already feel his breath on her neck by the time her mind makes the connection. She's frozen, rooted to the spot. His breath is at her ear and she feels his hand brush against the side of her hip, near her jeans' pocket.

"_Tag_," he whispers. "_You're it_."

And then she hears the brush of the wind in his coat and the rustle of leaves on the ground. She knows this time that he is gone.

Rose turns around; staring at the spot where she knew he'd been standing. There is no sign of him, just as before. He's like a ghost, yet able to vanish at will. He is her personal ghost, a phantom brought into being by her imagination. Rose's hand goes to her jeans' pocket; she's only half surprised this time.

She gently pulls the little slip of paper from her pocket and lifts it to the light of the sun.

Rose memorises the words, crumples the paper, and shoves it deep into her pocket before turning back around to find her way to the exit.

* * *

_Present, again._

Rose remembers how she had finally put all the pieces together after that day in the Reflection Gardens. The shards of facts she had collected were enough to form a considerably sized mirror. She found that, after she put those shards together, realisation stared back at her through the eyes of her reflection. And she knew – _knew_ what she had become caught up in.

It was nothing but a game. A game she didn't know the rules to, a game she was only just beginning to understand. It was _his_ game, and he was the master.

Every time it had been the same. Every time she found him, he slipped away, leaving cryptic notes and riddles in his wake. But Rose was beginning to play by her own rules – yet in that moment she'd tried to tranquillise him, the look in his eyes told her that he had known, from the very start, that she would learn the tricks to his game.

Rose now felt, perhaps from the last time she'd seen him, on the balcony of the church, that he was already changing his rules. The last note he'd left was no cryptic riddle; it was simple and straightforward, and that only made its meaning all the harder to believe. Rose un-crumpled the note in question; catching the still-sweet smells that wafted off its surface. She stared at the four words, eyes tracing the letters.

_**I want the Wolf.**_

There was no mistaking what he could have meant by the Wolf. But that was what Rose couldn't understand – the Bad Wolf was gone. The Doctor had taken it away, all those years ago, and she had never told anyone but her family about the Bad Wolf…

He'd given her the slip three times before Rose had finally made up her mind that he was real, not just a figment of her imagination. But at the same time, she knew it was not the Doctor – not _her_ Doctor, anyway. She also made up her mind that she was going to do whatever it took to find out who he _really_ was and why he wanted her. Why he wanted the Wolf.

But Rose had no leads this time, no little riddle or clue to where he would be. It was why she was here again, sitting in the Reflecting Gardens. She was almost glad he'd shown her this place; it was wonderfully quiet, almost secluded. And it was escape from work, from Torchwood. Most of all, it was outside, and she found that it was easier for her to think when she was outside, in open air.

Rose had hoped that coming here would be of some inspiration to her. She had come to the Gardens to think about where he might be headed next, if anywhere; but instead she'd ended up thinking through her memories. She stared down into the water, studying her gently rippling reflection as if she would find the answers there, as if there was some secret hiding deep beneath the surface of the water, just waiting to be discovered. But if there really was anything to be found beneath the reflective surface of the pool, Rose had not found it yet.

All she knew was that she was going to find him again. She was going to find out who he was, why he wanted her, and how he knew about Bad Wolf. She didn't care what she had to do in the meantime, as long as it happened.

The shrill ringing and vibration of her cell phone, tucked inside her jeans pocket, interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she pulled it out and flipped it open, studied the caller ID. _Torchwood_.

She held it to her ear, listened to the frantic voice at the other end of the line. Her eyes widened and her heart sped up.

Rose was on her feet and running towards the exit before her agent had finished his first sentence.

* * *

...

Dun-dun... dun? Hehe. Cliffhanger. I loves 'em.

Soooo, whatcha think? Who is he? What does he want? How does he know her? I would LOVE reviews, and just a reminder, the nekst chapter is COMPLETELY COMPLETE! Yes, that was redundant. And look! I don't care! Woohoo! (Cake!)

Bye! -Dots


	13. Diventando Uno

Another update! Yes, this one seems a bit long, even though it really isn't, but that's mainly because of a poem and a song that have taken up a good deal of space. :) But anyway. Onward!

**Disclaimer: I OWN THE POEM! It may be **_**affiliated**_** with my fiction, but because it's not directly related, I own it. The poem is basically a prophecy, and it has a LOT to do with my plot. (Take heed!) Not that I think you would have any use for it anyway, since it's designed specifically for my fiction, but you never know, right? it may seem a bit flowery, but keep in mind that it was originally a poem. I still don't own Doctor Who, and the lyrics belong to Daughtry. **

* * *

_Well I was moving at the speed of sound.  
Head spinning, couldn't find my way around, and  
Didn't know that I was going down. (Yeah, yeah)  
Where I've been, well it's all a blur.  
What I was looking for, I'm not sure.  
Too late and didn't see it coming. (Yeah, yeah)_

_And then I crashed into you,  
And I went up in flames.  
Could've been the death of me,  
But then you breathed your breath in me.  
And I crashed into you,  
Like a runaway train.  
You will consume me,  
But I can't walk away_

_Somehow, I couldn't stop myself.  
I just wanted to know how it felt.  
Too strong, I couldn't hold on. (Yeah, yeah)  
Now I'm just tryin' to make some sense  
Out of how and why this happened.  
Where we're heading, there's just no knowing. (Yeah, yeah)_

_And then I crashed into you,  
And I went up in flames.  
Could've been the death of me,  
But then you breathed your breath in me._

_And I crashed into you,  
Like a runaway train.  
You will consume me,  
But I can't walk away._

-Crashed, by Daughtry

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen;_ Diventando Uno_  
**

White light blazed behind her eyes; a thousand whispers echoed in her mind. Energy swept through her, crackled like static around her head and tingled in her fingertips. The air in her lungs stung like white-hot electricity. Theresa burned, a fire was raging inside her; from the top of her head, down through her chest. She couldn't see, blinded by the bright light behind her closed lids; she couldn't hear, deafened by whispers and crackling and a softly-sung song; she couldn't feel, nerves screaming as if each one had been set aflame. The whispers grew louder, stronger, but it was impossible to determine the words they were saying – like white-noise in her head.

But suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, the fire was extinguished; the whispers faded to nothing, the bright light dimmed to hazy blackness. Theresa's body remained immobilised; paralysed, still as a statue. A soothing calm replaced the white-hot burning and the voices vanished, allowing the soft sound of singing to penetrate the sudden quiet.

The unearthly notes reverberated through her skull, swirled within her mind like water in a stream; the song held happiness, regret, joy, anger, sadness. It seemed to be tinged with every emotion imaginable, performed so intricately, so precisely, that the notes created their own history – like a story made of thousands of smaller stories. The sounds pulled at Theresa's thudding heart, twisted her stomach; filling her with delight and sadness, happiness and grief, all at the same time.

It was the most beautiful song, and the most sorrowful tale she'd ever heard.

As the singing strengthened, images began to flicker across Theresa's closed lids, cutting sharply through the foggy blackness of her mind. The stronger the song became, the stronger her heart beat in her chest.

A girl, no older than Theresa, standing in the doorway of the TARDIS, surrounded by golden light. _The Wolf._

A man, clad in leather, erupting in red and gold and orange light, bathed in the fire of his rebirth. _The Phoenix._

A familiar man in a suit and human girl, both leaning against identical white walls, their surfaces vast and blank, empty. _The Divided._

The song was strong, reverberating through her mind and filling every inch of her being; Theresa's head began to pound, and words that were not her own rose above the singing as if they had been amplified. Her mind was filled with song and words, pulsating through her body as if they were a part of her. The voice was old and young, wise and smooth; the words a woven story.

The words were a prophecy.

_Among an evil, dark and fierce,_

_Shall come a glow of light to pierce_

_The veil that shrouded all in sight,_

_The darkest mist of shadowy night._

--

_And Lovers of a Broken Past,_

_Together shall their forces last;_

_And Bird of Fire and Wolf of Gold,_

_Shall rise to face a Test of Old,_

_Shall best the terrors of endless Night,_

_And bring back to us the burning light,_

_Of the bright and fiery Sun._

--

_But beneath a mask of rage and power_

_Lies a terror of the hour_

_That awaits him as the Thirteenth Dagger_

_Poised to strike and make him stagger_

_At last to Death__'__s Embrace._

--

_Then Fire and Flame will turn to Dust,_

_And from the Ashes he shall be thus:_

_Not a man of damaged pride,_

_But no longer failing to decide_

_The Right from Wrong, the Good from Bad_

_For the flight of his soul is all to be had_

_When all is said and done._

Theresa's mind was overwhelmed with song again as the voice ceased, but the words echoed clear through her thoughts. More images flickered past her eyelids, reflecting the meaning of the prophetic words.

Then the same voice whispered again in her thoughts, soft and slow; the singing began to soften.

_Bring them together._

White-hot fire surged through her body one last time, light exploding behind her eyelids brighter than it had before.

And then Theresa's world collapsed into thick, silent blackness.

* * *

The agonised scream echoed through the dark halls of the TARDIS, splitting the heavy silence that had long settled upon the dying ship. The Doctor froze like a statue just as his mug brushed against his lips; its steam fogged his glasses. His mind faltered for a split second, but then erupted in a mass of thoughts, one echoing louder than all the rest.

_Theresa!_

He practically flung his cup across the counter; the mug shattered on the floor, tea spilling everywhere and extinguishing a few of the candles burning nearby. The Doctor exploded out of the TARIDS' kitchen, crashing into the dark hallway and sprinting across the grating. He reached the consol room in only moments; the door of the TARDIS was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to splay across the floor. Theresa was nowhere to be seen.

The Doctor dashed for the doors, expecting her to be in the house. But the doors slammed shut in his face; there was a click as the bolt locked the doors in place. He yanked on the handle, but the doors wouldn't budge. The TARDIS had somehow gathered the strength to lock him in.

The Time Lord leapt back, chest heaving with adrenaline; his gaze darted from the doors, to the walls, to the central column. The TARDIS had only hours left to live – she couldn't have possibly had the strength to lock him in, much less close the doors.

A breeze, or what felt like one, brushed past the Doctor, gently ruffling his hair. He turned his head, brows furrowing.

And everything that happened next occurred in three short seconds.

A gust of wind swept around the control room, whipping through his hair and clothes; it swirled through the TARDIS like a whirlwind. The consol exploded in a massive burst of energy and heat and light. The concussive force knocked the Time Lord flat on his back; instinctively he shielded his face from the flying dust and heat and light, panic and confusion spreading through him.

And then it was over.

The whirlwind had vanished and the light had faded away; disappearing as quickly as it had come. It all happened so fast the Doctor almost wondered if it had even happened at all.

Opening his eyes, the Doctor found himself staring at the ceiling.

The first thing he noticed was that the TARDIS' concave roof was no longer cloaked in darkness; the coral-like support beams leading to the ceiling were illuminated by light emanating from the walls. He lifted his head; saw the familiar, lively green glow of the TARDIS' central column and the luminescent surface of her consol. He became aware of the deep, gentle humming that rumbled through the floor and walls all around him.

Rising unsteadily, the Doctor looked all around. It was as if he was staring at the past – the TARDIS looked brighter and healthier than she had in months, years even; she looked as if the consol had never exploded and the wiring had never burned, like she'd never been mere hours from her deathbed. The Doctor was paralysed with confusion until realisation struck him like a rock in the head.

The TARDIS was alive.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the ground beneath her.

Theresa opened her eyes, found herself lying on her side on the floor, body curled into a foetal position, hands cradling her head and leg tucked into her chest. She slowly disengaged herself, sitting upright. Her head swam, vision tunnelling as the blood rushed from her head. Once her equilibrium balanced out, she focused on her surroundings. She had ended up in the floor at the foot of the platform; Theresa tilted her head, trying to penetrate the haze of her memory. _What just happened...?_

Suddenly Theresa went rigid, eyes snapping open. She gasped, hand going to her head.

Memories flooded back, a tidal wave of information and realisation. The light, the voices, the burning; that white-hot fire that scalded every cell in her body... the singing, the beautiful singing that had reverberated through her head. And the words... no, the_ prophecy._

_Wait_, Theresa blinked. A _prophecy_?

Theresa leaned weakly against the stone platform, eyes wide. The same verses played over and over in her head, her mind putting them together with images she only vaguely remembered. _And lovers of a broken past, together shall their forces last; and Bird of Fire and Wolf of Gold shall rise to face a test of old…_

Bird of Fire – a phoenix? – the man in the leather jacket, exploding into flame. And the Wolf of Gold – the woman standing in the doorway of the TARDIS, bathed in swirling gold light. _Bring them together…_

Bring whom together? The man and the woman?

The image of the man came again, dominating her vision like a movie playing in her head; fire-like light exploded around him, the same as before. But instead of cutting off, it continued on, like a memory: The man began to change, grew taller, thinner; his hair elongated, thickened; his face reshaped, nose becoming sharper and jaw more defined; his ears and cheekbones changed shape. And then the light evaporated…

Leaving behind the familiar face of the Doctor.

The image faded and Theresa was staring at floor again. Her fists were bunched in her lap, knuckles white; the man in leather – _he_ was the Doctor. But then he'd changed, changed his entire body…

_**He had been dying**__._

Theresa's head snapped up. That voice – it was the voice that had recited the prophecy, the voice that sang the song… or was it?

There was a tinkling sound, almost like a chuckle, accompanied by a presence that spread warmth through her mind. _**It must be strange, hearing an unfamiliar voice in your head for the first time**__,_ it continued, startling her. Theresa jumped a little, looking all around as if the source of the voice would reveal itself; but the 'voice in your head' part basically told her that doing so was pointless. It also made her feel insane.

_**Less pointless than you may think**__,_ Theresa found herself being corrected._** I am all around you**__._

Theresa blinked her wide eyes, one hand still holding her head. All around her? Wait. Did that mean… the TARDIS?

_**As I said, less pointless than you may think**__._ Theresa supposed that meant she was right.

_TARDIS?_ She found herself thinking.

_**Yes**__._

Theresa leaned back against the platform again, feeling slightly dazed and overwhelmed. She replied with the only coherent thought her mind could muster. _How?_

Another tinkling chuckle. _**Even I am not sure how it happened. It seems that a telepathic link has been created between us. You are an empath – meaning you are sensitive to the feeling of telepathic fields and emotional energy; your proximity to the Eye of Harmony seems to have triggered a connecting-link between our minds**_.

Theresa was sure her heart-rate had accelerated quite a bit. Her mind was linked with the TARDIS'. It suddenly seemed like a spark of understanding had sprang to life in the darkness of her mind; the Eye of Harmony? _The platform._ It was the platform she was now leaning against. It was the dome with the markings and carvings in the centre of the room.

…Centre of what room? _The Cloister Room._ She had wandered into the Cloister Room.

She blinked, taking a moment to absorb the information that had, almost randomly, appeared in her memory. The Cloister Room… it was located beneath the Control Room, it was the source of the Cloister Bell, it balanced all of the TARDIS' dimensions, and it would be the last room on the TARDIS to die…

Wait.

The TARDIS had been dying.

_**Indeed, I was. **_Theresa couldn't help but notice they both used the past tense.

_**We are physically and mentally linked now,**_ the TARDIS continued. Theresa was strangely calm as she leaned against the side of the Eye of Harmony – she wondered briefly if it was because of the ship's emotions. Did the TARDIS have emotions?

_**Of course I do. I am as alive as you are – and more literally now than I was before. I am alive because of you – because of our link. Our energies are balanced. I cannot die while you are living.**_

_Equal_, Theresa provided, wondering briefly the implications of the TARDIS' words. She almost surprised herself by how quickly she had become comfortable with this news.

_**It may take some time for you to adjust to having me in your mind, but I cannot be sure of how this will turn out. This has never happened before, you see.**_

_This isn't exactly something that happens often, I'm sure. It's not every day a human saves you from dying… and if the state of this room is anything to judge by, it doesn't seem like the Doctor's even been down here in ages._ Theresa paused. _Does… Does __**he**__ know?_

_**There's really no escaping that**__,_ the TARDIS seemed to sigh. _**The Doctor is in the consol room**__._

Theresa somehow found the strength to push herself to her feet, brushed the dust from her clothes.

"Better head back up, eh?" She murmured to the air, knowing somehow the TARDIS would hear her regardless of how loud she spoke. Theresa was already growing accustomed the warm presence of the ship's mind hovering at the back of her own; it was oddly soothing.

_**I believe that would be best.**_

Theresa couldn't help a small smile as she walked towards the door, stepped out into the hallway, and headed towards the consol room.

* * *

Ahh.

-leans back in chair-

Done and outta the way. :) Hopefully I'll have Chapter Fourteen at least fleshed out by the time this gets posted. Woo! But once Fourteen is done, I hafta start up on my crossover again. I've been... _avoiding_, shall we say, the outlining of the next chapter for that fic... but I'll get there. Eventually.

What you think? Tell me in a wittle review! :) I have more fudge to give in return! Made it just this morning.

(Diventado uno, which is the title of the chapter, means 'becoming one' in Italian.)

Please review! I know it's school season (I'll be lumped into the schoolie catagory at least in a few weeks, then I can stop nagging you) so I know I can't justifiably assume readers have time for reviewing. I don't mind, really. I'm still writing this, reviews or not. (Although reviews make the experience all the more fun! It's also very nice encouragement... -grin-)

-Dots


	14. A Matrix of Secrets

Alas, my dear readers, this may be the last chapter I'm posting for a while. I must recommit myself to catching up on my other fic, as it still requires attention. And school, once we get situated. School's important too... (--People in background roll their eyes, say, "Yeah, sure, Dots, wutever…"--)

In terms of this chapter, I s'pose you should keep your wits about you – this is where it may be a little confusing. I'm presenting real facts and warping others; I've created warped and lengthened versions of historic facts. If you have any questions, please let me know. I've pretty much uncovered and embellished upon a few bits of Gallifrey's history, so any inconsistencies with the truth are done on purpose. No flames, please. If you have a problem, I'm sure there's a dignified and mature way to express it, and we can talk about it like human beings instead of psychotic, untempered animals. Anyway, onward!

**Disclaimer: Lyrics belong to Daughtry. I **_**sort of**_** own a few of the concepts I've included as Gallifrey's history; if you want to borrow one of them, drop me a PM and I'll tell you if it's mine or not. As long as you ask, I'm perfectly great with the borrowing of my 'historical' ideas! :) I own nothing else, tho; just the prophecy, Theresa, and the OCs. **

* * *

_Take, take your time.  
Smell the roses, but steal the vines.  
Don't wait for the hands of time  
To second guess and change your mind.  
And shine.  
Here's your moment to shine.  
Shine._

_Lay down, my friend.  
Close your eyes, breathe in,  
And I'll take you there and back again.  
No more questions why.  
I'm not so surprised  
Why you have  
Been there and back again._

-There and Back Again, Daughtry

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen; A Matrix of Secrets**

He ran his hands through his hair. He ran circles around the consol. He toyed with settings. He even ventured into the TARDIS' vast innards. But he couldn't find anything wrong.

The Doctor's brain was travelling ninety miles a minute. He had no idea what had happened, how the TARDIS had recuperated so quickly. But despite the impossibility of it all, the Time Lord couldn't help feeling ecstatic. He was grinning; eyes bright, excitement getting the best of him.

Lying facedown on the grating, the Doctor sifted through the wiring beneath the floor, searching almost frantically for any sign of the damage he'd been repairing earlier that day. To his utmost gaiety, he could find none. Everything was normal. Not a wire out of place, not a single scorch-mark in sight. But what excited him the most was that the TARDIS was _alive_. Alive! Not dead! Living! He wouldn't have to be domestic and get a mortgage and a house with carpets and windows and doors and…

He scrambled to his feet as a thought struck him. The Doctor replaced the section of grating he'd pulled away and bounded back to the consol, began tampering with the monitor. His glasses were on his nose as he peered at the readings; all fuel levels were back to normal, the crystals were at full power, and the TARDIS was practically brimming with energy.

_This is impossible. _He did another lap around the consol, trailing his hand on the surface and analysing the thrumming beneath his fingers. Life, life, and more life; that was all he could feel. And he didn't care how impossible it was. It was fantastic. Brilliant, even. It was-

The Doctor stopped in his tracks as something caught his eye. He turned towards a hallway.

Theresa stood in the entryway, hands wedged halfway into her jeans pockets; she had an almost amused look on her face.

"Terry!" The nickname slipped from the Doctor's mouth before he could stop himself. He suddenly realised that, in his excitement, he'd completely forgotten why he'd ended up in the control room to begin with. _That scream…_

"Theresa!" He bounded forward, words already spilling from his mouth. "The TARDIS! She's alive again! I dunno how it happened, but she's alive again! I heard you scream and I came into the consol room – the TARDIS shut the doors on me, but then there was this huge explosion of light and wind and... You screamed. At least I thought I heard you scream. Did you scream? Are you all right? You look… wait, where were you? You were just now standing in a hallway. Was that hallway there before? I don't recall seeing it when I came in here. Then again, it was dark and then I was so caught up I wouldn't be surprised if I'd missed it on my way in…" The Doctor trailed off; with a raise of his eyebrow, he noted the strange, almost serene expression on Theresa's face. His eyes travelled over her appearance, unable to get past the feeling that there was something incredibly different about her.

Theresa gave him a crooked smile.

"To answer your questions in order: yes, yes, I was down that hall, and yes." Theresa's smile grew almost smug. "To answer your third question more specifically, I was in the Cloister Room. Found it... on accident."

The Doctor blinked once, twice, before her words finally sunk in. His lips parted, jaw going loose.

"Cloister Room?" He echoed, mind numb. "You were… the Cloister Room? How did… What… _Cloister_ Room?" The Doctor's brain didn't seem to be capable of forming a complete thought, mind cycling through at least fifty different questions all at once.

Theresa said nothing, like she was waiting for him to form a full sentence. Or at least pick one question out of the four. The Doctor inhaled deeply, and mussed his already messy hair.

"Explain," he managed. "Everything."

And so she did. Theresa detailed everything that had happened to her from the moment she entered the TARDIS, ending with him discovering her as she stood at the entrance to the control room. The Doctor's eyes became wider and wider throughout her story, expression changing and contorting accordingly. She described the Cloister Room in stark detail, all the way down to the swirls on the Eye of Harmony; as soon as she mentioned the TARDIS' mind melding with her own, his pulse quickened and the word 'impossible' played over and over again in his head like a scratched record, accompanied by the mass of thoughts swirling in his mind. All the same, he never interrupted, waiting until the very end before speaking at all. Even then, he wasn't sure of what to say. For once.

After a full thirty-five seconds of silence, the Doctor's mind settled on one of the questions that nagged his mind the most.

"A prophecy?" He asked, studying her face; he was still sure that there was something else different about her… "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Theresa insisted. "Why would the TARDIS randomly recite a bit of useless poetry?"

He had to admit she had a point. But it wasn't a comforting thought; prophecies could be tricky, deceiving little things.

"What… what was this prophecy about?"

Theresa opened her mouth, but closed it again, brows furrowing. The Doctor waited for her to speak, patience beginning to dwindle. If this was a real prophecy she had heard, he _needed_ to know what it was; the Time Lord studied her expression, could practically see the wheels spinning in her mind. But about what, he wasn't sure.

"I don't know," she said, finally. But the almost imperceptible quaver in her voice betrayed her. She was lying, flat out.

"Theresa," he said, tone warning. Her brows furrowed further.

"I can't tell you," she stated, more confident this time. "You're not meant to know."

The Doctor almost scowled. "And you _are_?" He ground out, agitated; the rude remark slipped out before he could stop it. Theresa's temper flared, eyes darkening.

"_Yes_," she snapped, mirroring his tone. "Any more questions you'd like me to answer?"

The Doctor inhaled deeply, trying to cool his own temper; he knew he wasn't going to get anything else out of her on that subject. Mentally changing gears, he picked out another question.

"_How_ do you know about the Cloister Room?"

"I've already explained that. The TARDIS told me." He could tell Theresa was struggling to maintain her patience.

"So she just went into your mind and said, 'oh, and by the way, this is the Cloister Room?'"

"No." Theresa scowled, pursing her lips; the consol sparked behind her, emphasising her annoyance. "The TARDIS has memories. She has a mind, she has emotions, she has thoughts. She's _living_. As alive as you an' me! But she's not _in_ my mind – she's a _part_ of my mind. We're _connected_. I've already told you this." The Doctor watched her with a hard expression, absorbing every word she spoke; Theresa inhaled deeply before continuing.

"The link between us is direct enough for me to be able to see and hear what she's thinking or remembering – and vice-versa. I didn't know what had happened when I first woke up, but after I started thinking about it, I felt her. I saw snippets of her memories. I heard her thoughts – we even had a little conversation!" She sighed heavily, searching his eyes for his reaction. "Look, if you don't want to listen to what I'm saying, fine. I'll _show_ you."

Before he could respond, much less object, she'd already brushed past him, heading for the consol. He turned on his heel, watching her approach the monitor. His emotions were muddled again, more so than they had been earlier. One part of him was ecstatic over what had happened, but another insisted that what Theresa was describing should be impossible. No human had ever become linked with a TARDIS – especially so directly.

The rest of him was simply bewildered and curious. But that was pretty typical for him, even without the events of the evening.

Theresa was studying the controls on the consol, running her fingers over the green, glowing surface. She seemed to be searching for something in particular… or simply memorising the controls. The Doctor stood at the railing, watching with both interest and apprehension at whatever she was planning to do. If anything.

"Ooh," she murmured suddenly. She stopped walking, stared into space for a few moments. The Doctor watched as something similar to realisation crossed her features, and she smiled. _Well, it's closer to a mischievous grin than a smile_, he found himself thinking.

The Time Lord almost jumped, startled, as her gaze suddenly snapped in his direction; she fixed him with her mischievous grin and advanced on him.

"I know what it means now," she told him. The Doctor blinked, figuring that she was talking about the prophecy; the thought made his stomach turn. "A piece of it, anyway. It's really quite simple. Well, it's simple because of that little bit the TARDIS tagged on at the end, but all the same. But I know how it's supposed to work, now." Her grin widened as she watched the Doctor's confusion grow; she was being horribly vague, and she knew it.

"Theresa," he said, striding over and taking her by the shoulders; staring down at her. "_Please_ explain. What are you talking about?"

"You," she said simply; she poked him gently in the chest, looking almost smug. "You and Rose Tyler. Crossing the Void. Other Universes. All that great, fantastic, _wonderful_ stuff."

The idea seemed to brighten her day, brown eyes lighting up like a child's might after finding out that Christmas was coming early. But the Doctor's hearts had dropped into his stomach like two large, heavy stones.

Rose? Crossing the Void? The prophecy was about _Rose_?_ Theresa_ knew about Rose?

"No…" The word escaped without his consent. He shook his head, took hold of Theresa's shoulder with one hand and taking a fistful of his hair with other; her expression had become pleasantly calm, patient.

"No, you can't…" He swallowed. "The walls have closed. Forever. Breaking through them now would shatter the dimensions of the Universe. I… I can't."

This didn't faze her. If anything, she looked all the more cheerful.

"Well, not _that_ way you can't. It would be silly to try to pass through the wall like some kind of bulldozer." She rolled her eyes; her casual attitude was beginning to unnerve him. "But you wouldn't know, of course. It was _supposed_ to be a secret, but technically nothing could ever be a secret – not with the Matrix hangin' around, anyway."

The Doctor's hearts progressed in their downward descent, falling from his stomach and down to his shoes. The _Matrix_? First it was the Eye of Harmony and the Cloister Room, and now the Matrix, too? He felt the blood drain from his face.

"How can you know what was in the Matrix?" It came out as barely more than a whisper; she might be linked to the TARDIS, but Gallifrey was gone. The Matrix itself was gone. It would have been erased, all of it, after Gallifrey had been destroyed and Time-Locked.

She seemed to realise where his mind had gone; he could see it in her eyes.

"Do you really believe that Rassilon was stupid enough to not create a backup system for the Matrix?" She asked, looking almost amused. "All that millennia of information and history, completely unprotected? Sure, he had a key to lock it up, but he knew that wouldn't be enough. Rassilon created a back door for the Matrix – if the mainframe was destroyed, at any cause, all the information and history would automatically be channelled and transported to the TARDISes, where it would be filed and stored for later retrieval. However, he failed to point this out during his time on Gallifrey, probably because he never predicted such a downfall in the planet's future. But, naturally, _your_ TARDIS was the only one to receive the information, and now it's stored deeply in her databanks."

Theresa paused a moment, reading his eyes again. The Doctor's hearts – still at his feet – ached for the planet she was describing. Ached because of the downfall that had been his fault, the downfall that had been the bloody stains on his hands for centuries. She placed a hand on his shoulder; for a brief second he thought he saw his own pain reflected in her eyes. But then it was gone, and she was talking again.

"Even though he created this kind of backup system," she went on, "he never considered that the Panopticon, along with the Eye of Harmony, would be destroyed as well. Without the Eye of Harmony being active, the information contained within the TARDIS is literally impossible to retrieve. However, due to my unique situation, the impossible has become, quite frankly, very possible."

She stopped, took a breath to refill her lungs. "Does that answer your question?"

It took the Doctor several moments to fully digest everything she had told him. Yes, she certainly had answered his question – and then some… Her explanation was certainly logical – it made perfect sense, but…

But what? He wasn't sure. He just knew that there was a 'but' lingering on the tip of his tongue that wanted to make itself heard – even if there was nothing coherent to follow along behind it. He bit back the objection and dragged himself from his thoughts, running his hands through his hair a little more violently than was necessary.

The Doctor blinked a few times, finally released his hold on Theresa's shoulders. She seemed to be waiting patiently for him to say something. Or react. _Something_.

Eventually a thought popped into his head – a concern that he realised had been nagging at the back of his mind for quite a long time.

"But your mind…" The Doctor's voice became stronger and stronger as he spoke. "Theresa, you're not suffering any side effects. You should… you should be _burning_. All that information, all those memories, everything from the Matrix – your brain should be exploding right now! There's no way the human mind can handle all of that at once!"

Panic and confusion muddled his already mixed-up emotions even more. But Theresa inhaled again, looking as calm and pleasant as before.

"The TARDIS' mind isn't imprinted on my own," she told him patiently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We're connected. It's not the same thing. I can hear and see her thoughts – but only when she _thinks_ them. I can hear and see her memories – when she _remembers_ them. It's no different from reading someone's mind or being a telepath. I don't have her entire _mind_ swirling around inside my head, Doctor." She shook her head at him, smiling. "Relax. This is nothing to get worked up about."

She waved her hand dismissively, let it fall, then wedged it back into her pocket. The Doctor briefly cocked an eyebrow, leaning back on his heels and staring down his nose; he fixed Theresa with a Look. Even with everything he'd learned in the past five minutes, his definition of 'impossible' had hardly shrunk –he reserved the right to be worked up about a human suddenly becoming connected to his TARDIS. But all the same, his mind jumped back to their previous conversation – about the prophecy. The recollection made his mood darken enough for his face to fall.

Theresa, again, seemed to realise where his mind had gone. The Doctor briefly wondered if that had something to do with the TARDIS, cast a quick glance at the consol. He asked his question anyway.

"What did you mean when you mentioned crossing the Void?" He asked, attempting to keep the demand out of his voice. Theresa, patient as ever, seemed to stand back on her heels and settle into her story mode again, as she had when she mentioned the Matrix. The Doctor – as much as he disliked admitting it – was keen to hear what she had to say, simply because everything she had mentioned before had been new information to him. Despite his apprehension and (mild) anxiety, he was actually very curious.

"There is a way across the Void," the brunette stated simply. "As I said earlier, it was _meant_ to be a secret, to be kept from the public – the Council did a very good job of keeping it that way, too. But now that I have the entire Matrix at my disposal – very much like accessing a computer's search engine, because, again, it's _not_ just inside my head – regaining said information is quite easy.

"Anyway," she shifted from one foot to the other. "A safe way to cross the Universes was discovered a good number of centuries – millennia, maybe – before you'd been loomed, so the concept is fairly old. Quite basic, really, but that's not the point. Yes, I know about the looms… don't _look_ at me like that, Doctor. To be more to the point, students at the Academy were never taught about this kind of dimensional travel – and that was mainly because the Ancient Covenant forbade it."

Theresa took a breath, paused a moment as if to enhance the suspense of her explanation. The Doctor's eyes had widened slightly at the mention of the Covenant, but nothing had prepared him for what came next. Theresa ploughed on and didn't stop for anything but breath.

"The only way to safely cross the dimensional wall is to pass through the sixth dimension. The Six-Fold Realm was forbidden territory to the people of Gallifrey, but Time Travel had not been as refined back than as it was when you were young. Passing through the Six-Fold Realm was too risky when the Covenant was declared, but later on… later on they had the resources. But even though it was much easier, probably a lot more possible, the Council decided to keep sixth-dimensional travel under wraps – why change the rules when all you were allowed to do was watch, not explore? But Gallifrey is gone – the Covenant is no longer in effect. We _can_ cross the Void. And we will. Today."

The last word was like a door being slammed closed and locked. It was clear she had already made up her mind.

But by now the Doctor was practically reeling. The sixth dimension? The _Six-Fold _Realm? The Six-Fold Realm was supposedly the dimension in which the Six-Fold Guardians resided; the White Guardian, Black Guardian, Crystal Guardian… as well as the Red Guardian, Gold Guardian, and the Azure Guardian. He hadn't so much as considered travelling through the sixth dimension – not once in his entire life. But here was Theresa Schwartz, a human that had spontaneously become linked to his only method of transport, telling him that he was supposed to travel through the sixth dimension to get to another Universe.

Specifically, he remembered, to get to _Rose's_ Universe – Pete's world.

This thought simply made it all the harder for his brain to form complete sentences.

"T-Today?" The Doctor closed his eyes, dragged a hand down the side of his face. "You want me to travel through the sixth dimension and cross into Pete's world." It was more of a statement than a question. "You're… What… I don't even know _how_."

"You don't need to," Theresa said simply; the Doctor found himself falling heavily into the Captain's chair; he felt her hand on his shoulder again, hesitated before looking up at her. He had one hand thoroughly entwined in his hair. "That's not what I was planning to begin with, anyway," she added.

"What do you mean? Who else will?" he paused, frowned. "Wait, you were _planning_ this?"

She shrugged. "I sort of ran through the situation in my head on my way up here from the Cloister Room, yeah. If that counts, anyway." Theresa looked unconcerned about this statement of fact. "And in terms of piloting the TARDIS – who else is here?"

She gestured all around them. It was obvious what she meant, but in his muddled state of mind the Doctor almost looked around the consol room like there would really be someone else there. Theresa rolled her eyes as his eyes fell on her, stared at her in disbelief.

"You – you can't fly the TARDIS! You don't know how!" But the Doctor seemed to catch himself**, **jumping to his feet. "…Do you? You don't, right?"

The expression on her face said 'yes, duh' in plain English. The Doctor fell back into the chair, mussed his hair – again** – **and heaved a sigh. Eventually he came up with a coherent thought and found the tongue to express it in articulate word form.

"Why is this so important?" he asked, voice quiet as he groped for some kind of understanding. "Why… why do we need to cross the Void? Why Pete's world?"

This time Theresa's calm expression hardened a little.

"Do you need a reason?" She said after a moment. "Do _I_ need a reason?" Theresa paused, as if struck by a thought. She stepped away from the consol, where she'd been leaning, and advanced towards him. Her expression was insistent.

"How many times have you sacrificed yourself for this world, Doctor?" She folded her arms across her chest, fixed him with a penetrating stare. "How many times have you given your own life to save others? How many times have you traded what you wanted for what other people needed? How many times have you put the safety of my stupid planet before your own safety?"

Theresa stared at him hard; the Doctor was again struck with the feeling there was something physically different about the young human, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was bugging him, lingering on the edge of his mind.

"How many times?" She pestered; the Doctor didn't answer. He couldn't find the words to speak, nor did have answers to her questions. "See?" She went on. "You can't even tell me because you've lost count. So maybe it's time for you to be on the other end of the deal. Maybe it's time for people to make sacrifices for _you_ and not the other way around. Maybe you deserve to get what _you_ want for once."

The Doctor stared down at her, almost disbelieving of what he was hearing. But he couldn't help but see the logic in her words; a small part of him wanted to agree, to indulge himself with her offer… But another, larger part of him was telling him that he shouldn't, that he should leave the past in the past and move on.

Somehow that smaller part of him was winning the debate.

Theresa laid a hand on his shoulder again, bringing him from his internal battle.

"So do you think, just once, that you can let me do this? I want to do this for you, Doctor… I _need_ to."

It was that last part that prompted a thought to swirl through his mind. There were more motives behind this trip than she was letting on. And something told him it had quite a bit to do with the prophecy she refused to tell him about.

The Doctor stared down at her with wide eyes. If it really did have something to do with the prophecy… But what if it didn't? Even then, the opportunity was waving its hand in front of his face, shouting his name, calling out to him. The smaller, indulgent part of him was rapidly gaining control over the other. The practical side of him was losing the battle.

Theresa watched him, studying his eyes. He wondered briefly if she could tell what he was thinking. But suddenly the Doctor decided that it wouldn't matter if he said yes or no. Either way, he could tell that the young human standing in front of him had already made up her mind, and no matter what his answer was, she was going to carry out her decision.

The Doctor felt his practical side being smothered by the offer Theresa had placed in front of him. If what she said was true, that travelling through the sixth dimension was safe… he could see Rose again. Even if it was just for a short time… _Just once more_.

His resolve was complete; he knew Theresa could see it in his eyes.

The Doctor took a breath, inhaling deeply.

"Alright," he said, lips turning up into a smile. "_Allons-y_."

* * *

The TARDIS shuddered and rocked; the Doctor watched with a mixture of awe and panic as Theresa rushed around the consol, looking as if she knew exactly what she was doing. The central column glowed brightly; the green light was stronger than the Doctor had ever seen it. The Time Lord gripped the handrail as he watched, hoping against all hope that she had been right about the sixth dimension.

Theresa took hold of the handbrake, one hand typing furiously at the keys of the monitor. Her right hand moved impossibly fast, flying over keys, turning dials, fixing settings and entering sequences in Gallifreyan the Doctor vaguely recognised.

She entered in a final coordinate and halted, one hand clutching the brake and one hand hovering over a switch. Her eyes were closed; she had frozen, poised like a statue at the consol. The Doctor was paralysed – he'd frozen, mind and body alike. The TARDIS shook violently; the floor vibrated and rocked with tremors. Theresa was still frozen; the Doctor briefly wondered what she was waiting for.

But then she moved, a statue come to life. Theresa flicked the switch and pulled the brake in a single, lightning-quick movement.

The TARDIS lurched once and was still.

Silence descended on the control room, disrupted only by the strong thrumming of the TARDIS. Theresa's eyes flickered open and she met the Doctor's gaze. They stared at each other for several long moments; Theresa suddenly smiled, blinking lazily as she began to sway to the side.

"Welcome back, Doctor," she slurred.

Her eyes slid shut as her legs gave way beneath her.

The Doctor reacted almost too late. He leapt forward, caught her beneath the arms just before she hit the floor. He gently lowered her to the grating, kneeled beside her, panic fluttering in his chest as he took in her appearance. He pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her heart seemed to beat weaker and weaker and her breathing was shallow, body limp. Theresa suddenly looked drawn and exhausted, even in unconsciousness.

The TARDIS thrummed all around him. Then it hit him; realisation setting in with the effect of a kick in the stomach. She said they were in the other Universe, but the TARDIS was still alive.

The TARDIS was still alive.

Suddenly it all made sense – or better sense, to a certain extent. Theresa had proved she was connected to the TARDIS, but now he knew it was more than just a mental connection. She was _physically_ linked to the TARDIS – her energy was the TARDIS' energy, and vice-versa. His ship had been dying – and Theresa was keeping the TARDIS alive. Theresa was the key, the key to crossing the Void. Only Theresa had access to the TARDIS' mind and the remnants of the Matrix, and within the Matrix were the memories and knowledge of every Time Lord that had ever lived – himself included. It was how she had known about the Six-Fold Realm – the sixth dimension. This one display of navigating the TARDIS had simply proven that everything she'd said was true.

But that meant she was right – about everything. That meant she had made it across the Void, without creating a hole. That meant they were in the other Universe.

The Doctor looked down at Theresa again, hearts suddenly exploding in his chest. She was deeply unconscious, but her pulse was strengthening. The Time Lord let a grin split his features as he lay her gently back. He rose to his feet. Eyes bright, he dashed to the TARDIS' doors and threw them open to see what lay outside, excitement getting the best of him.

And then his grin faded.

* * *

...

...O.o

UBER CLIFFIE!! Don't you hate me? I know my right hand does... I kind of ended up with minor carpell tunnel after writing this chapter - banged out about three fourths of it in the same day. But I'm sorry - probably no updates for a good amount of time, at least compared to the rapidness of my updating since chapter twelve.

Soooo, what do you think he saw? Was my explanation weird? Strange? Unrealistic? Believeable? Tell me! In a review, of course... I would like to know who's still out there and reading! (That way I can thank you all for staying with me for so long!!)

* * *

Okay, I've changed my mind. Instead of doing this later, I'll do it now. Get it out of the way just in case...

I was surprised at how much attention this fic got so early on! I thank all of the following people for adding me to both their favourites list and alert list! --Bareri San, JeMS7, Ma'echii, Tylerfan, VampMistress, magaard, and roogirl2000. You're all wonderful! I'm also very grateful to Chrystal Rose (also for the lovely comments you left me!), Caitlin94, Rose Boleyn, Tuba321, cheatachu82, and greengirl666 for adding me to their favourites list as well!

In addition, I also want to thank 10andRoseforever, Bloomingpoet, DanielleP, JForward, Ne'ith5, Oaive, ROGMethos, Srebrna, Suuki-Aldrea, Terran34, VHunter07, Wanabee, ataralasse, horsemaniac, katie mase, random-tuesday (stay strong, r-t!), and winchesterhouse for adding me to their story alert lists! You're all awesome!

And last but not least, gingerbritishgypsyelf, you are a wonderpificul, brilliant, utterly fantastic person! Yay you! Thank you for adding me to your author alert, and being an outlet for my boredom when needed and leaving me lovely little compliments. :) (And say hi to Three for me!)

Loves to ALL my faithful readers, and bye for now!

-Dragongirl


	15. Illegal Alien

Wow, it's really been a while, hasn't it? Well, then. I'm back! Unfortunately, this chapter isn't uber long or anything, so I'll try to get to work on the next pretty soon. Maybe over Thanksgiving break. (Ooh, a whole two days! *rolls eyes* Better than nothin', tho.)

So, enjoy. :)

**Disclaimer: Just Theresa. And, well, you could say I own a scrap of sanity, too. But only a scrap. And it's very evasive.**

_(Previously)_

_The Doctor looked down at Theresa again, hearts suddenly exploding in his chest. She was deeply unconscious, but her pulse was strengthening. The Time Lord let a grin split his features and rose to his feet. Eyes bright, he dashed to the TARDIS' doors and threw them open to see what lay outside, excitement getting the best of him. _

_And then his grin faded. _

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen; Illegal Alien**

There are times when things take an extra few seconds to register in the mortal brain. Sometimes, things just don't connect; the brain simply can't put the pieces together. Sometimes, the brain decides that it doesn't want something to be true or correct, and its denial delays the connection of logic an extra few moments.

This, however, was not one of those times.

The Doctor didn't need to see the dog tags and laminated badges to know where he was. He didn't need to see the blank white walls or the giant, inhuman weapons trained on him – not even the logo or the uniforms. No, it was all too obvious where he'd landed, right off the bat. Now, whether this location had been by choice or chance, he didn't know, and frankly he didn't care. The Doctor was more concerned about the fact that he had six large, extremely lethal-looking blasters aimed at his chest.

Torchwood. _Parallel_ Torchwood.

He slowly lifted his hands up, stepping forward enough to close the TARDIS' door behind him. He heard the doors lock as they swung shut. He swallowed thickly, managed a small smile.

"Ah, hello, there," he said, grinning to mask his nervousness. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you."

"Identify yourself," one of the camo-clad men demanded roughly. None of them lowered their guns.

"I'm the Doctor," the traveller repeated pointedly, wondering if the name would mean anything. "Ah...Time Lord. I've got identification, if I may..." He nodded to the weapons, hoping the men might point them elsewhere, but the soldiers didn't move. He chuckled nervously, cautiously retrieving his psychic paper and flipping it open for them to see. The man closest to the front flicked his eyes toward it, scanned the paper, and then promptly raised his gun to aim it at the Doctor's head.

"It's fake," he announced to his group; the Doctor's hearts fell to the bottom of his stomach. Immediately, the other five men moved forward and seized the Doctor, pulling his hands behind his back and securing them tightly with bonds in only a matter of seconds; the Time Lord yelped in surprise, also discovering he no longer had possession of his psychic paper. He saw the lead man tuck it into one of his breast pockets.

Two of the soldiers took hold of his arms, one on each side, and turned his body to face the man who must have been their superior.

"Identify yourself and state your purpose," he demanded again.

"I'm the Doctor," the Time Lord said for the third time. "I'm a Time Lord. I'm here to see someone."

"What is the nature of your business?"

"It's strictly personal," the Doctor insisted, refraining from struggling against the men holding him in place. He took a breath and swallowed uneasily, trying to organise his thoughts. "I'm... I'm here to see Rose Tyler."

This fact was, surprisingly, nothing more than mere information to the man in front of him. He continued on, in the same tone, almost like he was quoting from some kind of handbook. "You've violated protocol and attempted to use false ID. According to procedure, you will be questioned and your background will be investigated. If you clear the system, you will be allowed to carry out your business. If not, the consequences will be decided accordingly. Any attempt to escape questioning and investigation or failure to cooperate will result in any punishment legally allowed."

The Doctor swallowed, eyes going wide.

"Protocol?" He asked, mind running over the possible punishments that would be considered 'legal.' Did 'punishment' include torture? "What protocol?"

The soldier seemed to refrain from rolling his eyes, gun finally lowered. "All meetings on Earth are to be communicated in advance. Any unplanned contact is automatically postponed for investigation because of security matters."

A moment passed and the Doctor gave a short nod, understanding why Torchwood would want to be cautious. But he was uneasy – background searches and interrogation? He didn't _exist_ in this Universe... how would he 'clear the system?' And 'the consequences will be decided accordingly.' Rassilon only knew what that meant. The Doctor envisioned himself strapped to an electrical chair and hanging upside-down from the ceiling, as well as enduring several vicious, non-human methods of torture he severely hoped didn't exist in this Universe.

The Doctor walked in silence as the six soldiers led him down the hall, away from the TARDIS.

* * *

Her head was pounding.

Theresa sat up, hand on her right temple; she was on the ground in the consol room. What had happened? _Oh..._

Looking all around, Theresa saw that the consol was still glowing, albeit a little dimly. She felt weak, woozy. Had they landed in the other Universe? Was that why she was so weak?

_**I believe so.**_ The TARDIS' voice was warmth through her mind. Theresa heard a smile in her voice. _**You did it. We have arrived.**_

Theresa took a long moment to let this fact sink in. But as soon as it did, her heart swelled with something similar to excitement. They really had made it? Had she doubted they would? She looked all around the room, eager to share her accomplishment, but she found the consol room to be empty. She was alone. Theresa's heart jumped as a sense of foreboding clenched her stomach. She frowned at the consol, brows furrowing.

"How long have I been out?" Theresa didn't realise that she'd spoken aloud until the words had already left her mouth. She absently massaged the back of her neck, staring up at the ceiling. "Where's the Doctor?"

Theresa's vision was suddenly overwhelmed as the TARDIS relayed to her the events of the past few minutes. As it turned out, the answers to her questions were not comforting. Theresa pushed herself to her feet, attempting to stand; she grimaced. Her legs were like jelly... jelly encased with rubber.

_Now there's a mental image I could have done without,_ she thought, grimace contorting into a look of disgust. Trying to push the thought from her mind (and ignoring a nudge of amusement from the TARDIS), the brunette hobbled over to the column by the doors, where the Doctor's coat still hung. She picked it up and made to feel around inside one of the pockets, hoping to find something of use – like extra psychic paper or another screwdriver. When her arm disappeared up to her elbow, she pulled away, staring at it in mild disbelief. _Typical,_ she thought.

Instead, Theresa just slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled it on. If there was anything helpful to be found inside his coat, with its weird, bigger-on-the-inside pockets, she would have to look later. She needed to get moving. Because the Doctor had just been arrested by Parallel Torchwood.

_Should have guessed something like this would happen_, she thought; Theresa half-wobbled outside, giving the TARDIS one last glance before closing the door securely behind her and turning to walk down the hall.

Theresa went left at the fork, where she'd seen the Doctor being taken, but then suddenly froze. She heard voices and footsteps, getting louder and heading in her direction. Her heart sped up as she looked all around for a hiding place. Finding none, she chewed hard on her lip. An idea suddenly sprang to mind, and she started forward, rounding the second corner in a full-out, overconfident stride. Two men in white lab coats were walking down the hallway in the opposite direction, conversing about something to do with a particle decelerator, and they startled a little when they saw her. The brunette stopped in front of them, throwing her hands up and sighing heavily.

"Finally!" She exhaled, sporting a barely noticeable hint of British accent. "A living being somewhere in this bloody facility." She gestured wildly behind her, back down the hallway. "Look, there's an unidentified spaceship sitting in the hallway back there, and I've been trying to get a hold of someone to take it to the holding bay. It's blocking the walkway." Theresa tapped her wrist. "I really have to go – I'm late, and no one seems to be getting around to dealing with that ship yet, and it really shouldn't be left unattended." She was already starting back down the hall, moving past the two baffled-looking scientists and walking backwards as she talked. "Do you think you could get a hold of the transport team to get that thing moved? I would really appreciate it."

And then she was gone, disappearing around the corner. The scientists exchanged glances, blinking at each other.

"Transport team?" One of them asked, looking slightly incredulous. The other shrugged, but proceeded to get out his communicator as they once again started down the hallway.

"She must be new."

* * *

Meh. Not really expecting reviews for one this short. Kinda fillerish, really.

Next chap up soon, hopefully...


	16. Crashing Down

Hah! I have returned. Again. Alas!

Now.... 'tis the moment you have all been waiting for..... *rubs hands together* Yet it shall not be in the way that you expect.... Heheh, Mwah hahahahaha! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

... Sorry. I blacked out again.

Anyway, try and enjoy the update. Try.

**Disclaimer: Meh. Maybe one day.... when I'm editing Lexie's books and writing episodes for _Doctor Who_...**

* * *

_Now that it's all said and done,  
I can't believe you were the one  
To build me up and tear me down,  
Like an old abandoned house.  
What you said when you left  
Just left me cold and out of breath.  
I fell too far, was in way too deep.  
Guess I let you get the best of me._

Daughtry, Over You

* * *

_-Flashback, Chapter Twelve-_

_"All she knew was that she was going to find him again. She was going to find out who he was, why he wanted her, and how he knew about the Wolf. She didn't care what she had to do in the meantime, as long as it happened._

_The shrill ringing of her cell phone, which started vibrating in her jeans pocket, interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she pulled it out and flipped it open, studied the caller ID. Torchwood._

_She held it to her ear, listened to the frantic voice at the other end of the line. Her eyes widened and her heart sped up._

_Rose was on her feet and running towards the exit before her agent had finished his first sentence."_

**Chapter Sixteen; Crashing Down**

Rose swiftly entered the doors to the Torchwood building, bypassing the false registration desk with a flash of her ID badge and hardly a glance at the receptionist. In seconds she had slipped through the doors of the elevator and was on her way to the basement floor.

When the doors of the lift finally slid apart, what seemed like an age later, Rose stepped out and quickly made her way down the hall, heading for the interrogation room. Her agent's words continued to cycle through her head, like a broken 45-record, just as they had been since the minute she'd left the Reflecting Gardens.

"_There's an unidentified visitor in sector three, being taken to Interrogation. He reported himself to be on strictly personal business, but he's arrived unannounced and violated protocol. He's asking for you."_

It was obvious, really – she'd known it the instant her phone had gone off. _He _hadn't left a clue last time, only a single statement – but this time she hadn't needed a hint. _He _was coming to her.

_Fair enough_, she thought, turning down a corridor. _Change the rules all you like. I'm going to be right behind you every step of the way._

Rose came to a halt at the end of a corridor, seeing the two armed guards standing watch outside the door of the interrogation room. Inhaling deeply, she steeled herself and started forward.

The guards did not object as she entered a code on the wall and opened the door.

* * *

_(A Few Minutes Prior)_

As soon as he was deposited into the care of the People of Higher Authority – none of them had bothered offering a name or even a rank, but it was obvious they were of higher status than the men that had found him – the Doctor was promptly led to what his captors were referring to as the "interrogation room." Swallowing, he severely hoped that this Parallel Torchwood was more benign than some of the other facilities he'd been in, at least regarding forms of "interrogation." _Surely_, he thought, _if Rose is here, it can't be that horrible, can it?_

But his hearts twisted and untwisted and butterflies suddenly took residence in his stomach. Rose. She was here. _Here_. As in, this Universe. This planet. This country. This _city_. Here. _He was going to see her._ And he _should_ be seeing her, right at this very second. But he wasn't. Instead, his wrists were bound behind his back and he was about to be interrogated. Just because of _protocol_.

_We'll get out of this_, he thought, as the People of Higher Authority led him down yet another hall, apparently heading towards the door at the end. _Rose will tell them who I am_. But he swallowed, then thought, _if we make past security first, anyway_.

Their little group stopped when they reached the door to what must have been the interrogation room, but it was at that moment the Doctor remembered what had turned his 'I' into a collective 'we.'

Theresa.

Theresa was still inside the TARDIS.

Panic rose like bile in his throat, and he reflexively struggled against his captors for a brief second as he was prodded into the interrogation room. She wouldn't know what had happened. She would wake up alone in the TARDIS – if she even woke up at all. Considering the vast amount of energy she'd used to jump Universes, through the Sixfold Realm... she could sleep for hours. And if she did wake up – where would she go? What would she do? Try and find him? He severely wished he knew her better, wished he could predict her actions. But he'd only known the poor girl for a day and a half, and that meant, sadly, he couldn't.

One of his guards forced him into the cold, stool-like seat that sat at one end of a low, wooden table. The Doctor winced, hands still twisted awkwardly behind his back. If only he could get to his screwdriver... then again, maybe it was best to keep that a secret, if only for now... At least until he got his psychic paper back, anyway.

Temporarily setting his concerns for Theresa aside, the Doctor gratefully leaned forward as one of the guards cut his bonds, freeing his wrists. He rubbed them, brows drawing close together. One of the People of Higher Authority took a seat in a more comfortable-looking chair on the other side of the table, and the other guards took this as a signal to leave. They filed outside, and the heavy door slid closed, leaving the room in partial darkness.

A moment later an automatic light flickered on overhead, still barely enough to eliminate the shadows in the corners. The Doctor shifted, making himself somewhat comfortable in the cold metal chair; apparently this Torchwood's first method of torture was freezing their captive's arse off.

The man sitting across from him was middle-aged, slightly heavyset, with salt-and-pepper hair. The salt seemed to be winning. He wasn't a very intimidating man, but he wasn't very pleasant-looking, either. And there was something about his little black eyes that made the Doctor think there had been more than one reason this man had become the interrogator. And most of those reasons probably had very little to do with his resume.

"This interrogation will be monitored and everything said in this room will be recorded," the man stated, obviously not keen on small talk. His voice was almost as unpleasant as his face. "Now – what is your name?"

"I'm the Doctor," the Time Lord replied easily, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out beneath the table. "What's yours?"

It was probably not typical for a Torchwood captive to act so laid back, but the interrogator responded nonetheless.

"You are to call me _sir_ for now," he stated, sounding irritated. The Doctor offered a grin, nodding his head.

"Oh, of course. Good to meet you, Sir." No, it wasn't good to meet him – he was being _interrogated_. But the Doctor's unconcerned attitude seemed to be annoying 'Sir' already, and that was really the only upside of the entire situation. Besides – being easygoing couldn't possibly be an offense worthy of _any punishment legally allowed_, could it?

"You called yourself the Doctor. Doctor what?"

"Just the Doctor."

"Right." Sir didn't seem to believe him, looking all the more annoyed. He continued on, said, "Name your race."

"Time Lord."

Brief pause. "What's your business here?"

"I came to see Rose Tyler. And it's personal," he added, again reminded of his purpose in this other Universe. And Theresa.

"What do you have to do with Rose Tyler?" Sir asked. This time the Doctor blanched. There was a good five seconds of silence before the Doctor could come up with something to say.

"She's an old friend." There was too much emotion in his voice, but try as he might he couldn't banish it from his tone. "I thought we could do with some catching up. It's... it's been a while."

There was a short pause. "Yes, of course." He cleared his throat. "And was this meeting of yours so urgent you felt it necessary to neglect our protocol?"

At this the Doctor's brows furrowed as he frowned. "I wasn't aware of the _protocol_," he said, sounding sharper than he had meant to. "And I hadn't planned this _meeting_, anyway. It was... spontaneous."

Sir seemed to suppress a sigh. "What is your method of transport?"

"My _ship_ is a model 40 TARDIS – that's T-A-R-D-I-S, standing for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space."

"A dimensional vessel?"

"Yes."

"That travels through time?"

"Correct." The Doctor inhaled and exhaled, leaning back in his chair again. He, himself, was beginning to become irritated.

Another pause. Sir seemed to be cycling through his mental list of interrogation questions.

"How old are you?"

The Doctor's eyelids slid halfway shut and he looked up at the ceiling. He was officially bored with this little conversation. "Old," he said.

"Be specific." There was that unpleasant, irritable facial expression again. Sir was not looking very happy.

"Very old." Then, just because he wasn't feeling very hospitable, the Doctor added, "Even older than you."

As expected, this was the straw that caused him to snap, and Sir practically leapt out of his seat. He stood up, causing his chair to scrape loudly across the floor as it was pushed backwards. Anger clouded his features and his face contorted into an even more unpleasant expression, looking as if he'd smelled something particularly disgusting.

But before Sir could utter one syllable, the door to the interrogation room slid open, and a single figure stepped through the doorway.

* * *

The Doctor rose from his seat, hearts skipping multiple beats before hammering hard in his chest. He couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips as he stared into the eyes of the woman he'd thought he'd lost forever.

He expected shock, wide eyes, a smile, some kind of reaction. But Rose's expression remained stoically intact. She did not move, simply stood in the doorway; the Doctor felt his hearts twinge as she looked away, fixing her gaze on 'Sir,' who was still standing in front of his chair, his breathing a little heavy.

The Doctor's hearts practically fluttered as she spoke, hearing her voice for the first time in three years, but her words were not meant for him.

"You're dismissed, Callahan," she said. Her voice was quiet and professional, not lacking in authority. "I'll take over from here."

Sir – _Callahan_ – opened his mouth to protest, but then promptly closed it, teeth coming together with an audible click. Gathering whatever dignity he could muster, the unpleasant man gave his superior a curt nod and left the room without another word, letting the door to the interrogation room slide shut behind him.

The Doctor gave a manic, almost wild grin when Rose Tyler once again met his gaze. On an impulse, he closed the gap between them with a single step and wrapped her in his arms, holding the young human tight against his chest and inhaling as deeply as his lungs would allow.

So overcome in his ecstasy of excitement and joy, the Doctor took several moments to realise his enthusiastic embrace was not being returned.

Confused and a little hurt, the Doctor pulled away. Rose Tyler was staring at him, still as stone, brows slightly furrowed as she observed him, like she was scrutinising his every detail; her searching gaze was unnerving. It was as if she didn't recognise him, or like she wasn't sure what to make of him and his big, Cheshire grin.

"Why are you here?"

Her question took him by surprise, spoken so suddenly he almost wondered if he'd imagined it. But Rose's gaze had turned expectant and he could still hear her voice ringing in his ears.

"What?" The question was a reflex, and he quickly stammered past it. "I'm – I'm here to see you." He tried an assuring grin. "Why else would I throw myself into Parallel Torchwood?"

He hoped the "Parallel Torchwood" part would be a hint to what should have already been obvious – that he'd crossed Universes to see her – but his answer did not seem to have been what Rose had wanted to hear. She looked, in a word, unsatisfied.

"But why?" The genuine interest in her tone suggested that perhaps his situation was not quite as obvious as he'd thought. "Why me?"

The Doctor stared at her, truly confused now. He was suddenly struck with a terrifying thought, thinking that perhaps he was in the wrong Universe. _Maybe this is the wrong Rose_...

"Because..." he swallowed, slightly daunted by this newfound possibility. "Because... I missed you. And I could. I mean, I had the chance, so I came." _Don't babble. Don't babble. Don't babble..._ "So I'm here now." He gave her a little wave, trying another smile. "Hello."

But her next words made his hearts fall to his stomach.

"Who are you?"

The Doctor stared at her, mouth coming open. "Rose... it's me. The Doctor. I'm the Doctor."

But Rose shook her head, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. "No, you're not. You're not the Doctor. You're not _my_ Doctor."

She was backing up, moving several steps away. "Tell me who you are." She was using the same authoritative tone that she'd used with the interrogator. "Why have you been following me? What do you want?"

The Time Lord could think of absolutely nothing intelligent to say, standing there in front of her and probably looking very much like a fish out of water, with no voice to accompany the opening and closing of his mouth. His mind was a jumble of confused and indignant thoughts and his emotions were a muddled mess. Everything he had imagined of their reunion was wrong. She didn't believe him. She thought he was someone else. It was all wrong.

"I've only just arrived," he managed, voice bordering a whisper. "I haven't... I'm not following you. I just wanted to see you."

He could think of nothing else to say. Rose's expression did not change.

"But the notes," she insisted. "The showing up on the street, the gardens, the chasing, the disappearing. What was all that for?"

"Rose..." He could hear his voice beginning to shake, but he couldn't make it stop. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't left any notes. What gardens? I haven't seen you for... I haven't even been here long enough to..."

But she was shaking her head again. "I don't know why you're following me. Even if you are _a_ Doctor, you're not my Doctor. The Doctor I know is gone. Forever." There was now something akin to anger in her eyes, clouding her features in the dim light of the interrogation room. "I don't know how you know me, or why, but I don't want to play your game anymore. And unless you tell me what it is you really want from me, you might as well leave."

The Doctor's hearts had already fallen to his feet, and now proceeded to sink through the concrete floor. The finality of her words echoed painfully in his ears and their meaning was like a punch to the stomach. She didn't believe him. She really thought he was someone else. She wanted answers that he couldn't give. And she was sending him away.

It was like his world was crashing down around him.

The Doctor's silence had been response enough to her statement, and with one last glance, Rose Tyler turned her back on him and left the interrogation room.

* * *

....

*Cowers behind desk, hiding from sight*

Don't hurt me. Please. If you want it to get better at all, you need me alive!

*Jingles cup* Reviews?


End file.
